


The Wolf who would be Queen

by wonderstruck8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Ned has another sister, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, her name is Lysarra, second stark sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-11-18 02:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderstruck8/pseuds/wonderstruck8
Summary: The dress that she wore, black and gold for the house she would soon be bound to, had been what Lyanna had been meant to wear on her wedding day.Lysara had originally been betrothed to the oldest son of Balon Greyjoy. The boy was at least 6 years her junior, but it was a match that would keep the iron islands under the power of the north.Lya was to marry Robert Baratheon, Brandon would wed Catelyn Tully, while Ned and Benjen would end up as husbands to Northern Ladies who had keeps for them to rule.But the world had changed after that tourney at Harrenhal, where the prince had named Lya the Queen of love and beauty over his own wife...Lysara was 13 when her world fell apart. Her sister was stolen away by Rheagar Targaryen and the remainder of her childhood was stolen away by the war that followed.The final nail in the coffin was her wedding to the man that was meant to be her sister's husband, the newly crowned king, Robert Baratheon. Now, she must find a way to navigate the court in Kings Landing, all while fulfilling her role as wife and queen





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Lysara Stark was not ready to be a wife. She was barely past her 15th name day and, while she was technically a woman grown, she didn’t feel it. Her youth had been stolen away when Rhaegar Targaryen had taken her older sister as his own.

She thought of Lyanna as she looked in the mirror. Despite the two years between them, they could have passed for twins. Benjen who was stuck between the two of them, was her partner in crime more often than not, but her relationship with Lya had been so uniquely special, and their physical similarities made it even more so.

The dress that she wore, black and gold for the house she would soon be bound to, had been what Lyanna had been meant to wear on her wedding day.

Lysara had originally been betrothed to the oldest son of Balon Greyjoy. The boy was at least 6 years her junior, but it was a match that would keep the iron islands under the power of the north. 

Lya was to marry Robert Baratheon, Brandon would wed Catelyn Tully, while Ned and Benjen would end up as husbands to Northern Ladies who had keeps for them to rule. 

But the world had changed after that tourney at Harrenhal, where the prince had named Lya the Queen of love and beauty over his own wife.

Lysa had been only 13 at the time but even she could tell that that moment was the moment everything began to change. Less than a year later her father and Brandon were dead, Lya had been stolen away and Ned had married Brandon’s Betrothed, managing to get her with child, before riding off with Robert to get there sister back.

Now, just under 2 years later Lysa would not be walking down the Aisle to a young salt lord, she would be taking Lya’s place as the wife of Robert Baratheon, who now sat on the iron throne as king. She would be his wife and his queen at the tender age of 15 and, within the year, she would be expected to provide him with a son and heir.

The two were to be married in front of the weirwood tree at Winterfell in a ceremony that combined traditions of the old and the new, spending their wedding night in her family’s ancestral home before riding south to live in king's landing.

“Are you ready?” Catelyn peaked her head in the door, her auburn curls pulled away from her slim face. As the new matriarch of the Stark family and mother of its heir, she had been one of the women who had helped Lysa dress, in place of her mother who had passed only a few months before.

Lysa looked in the mirror once more, taking in the sight of herself with a golden crown perched on her head. “How am I supposed to love him?” she asked, letting the tears well up in her eyes. “Lya was always meant to be his wife, not me.”

Catelyn shuffled into the room, closing the door softly behind her. “I’m not going to pretend that it’s easy,” she said, making her way over to Lysa. “Robert has always been… obsessed with the idea of joining houses with Ned. That’s why he wanted to marry Lyanna, and why he is now choosing to marry you.”

Lysa quickly swiped at her tears, trying to avoid messing the powders and creams that had taken far too long to apply. “He loved her, Cat.”

“No, he didn’t,” Cat insisted, sitting next to her. “Robert didn’t even know Lyanna. He didn’t love her, he loved the idea of her.”

“He doesn’t even like the idea of me,” she broke, her shoulders beginning to shake. “I don’t want to marry him, Cat, I can’t.”

“Lysa, you need to calm down.” Cat laid a hand against her shoulder, but Lysa shook it off as she stood.

“I want to see Ned,” she spat out, her eyes still damp. “And Benjen, if he is here.”

Catelyn only nodded as she stood. “Of course. I’ll send them right in.”

Lysa paced the room, not letting her eyes wander to the maiden’s cloak that she still had yet to put on when her two remaining brothers burst into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Ned asked, quickly crossing the room to where she stood, Benjen trailing behind. “Catelyn said that you needed to see us.”

Lysa whipped around, her loose curls flying, as she faced them. “I can’t marry Robert.”

Benjen was the first to speak. “I can sneak you out and we can say you ran.”

Lysa smiled at her twin’s quick reaction. Benjen and her had always been on each other's sides and it was nice to see that him joining the night's watch hadn’t changed that. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Ned sighed, “Lysa, you can’t just back out, not now. It would be a slight to Robert and the crown.”

Lysa’s eyes narrowed. “A slight to the crown?” She looked at her brother up and down. “You mean like passing the son of Rhaegar Targaryen off as your own?”

She almost wished she could take back her statement as soon as it left her lips. Jon Snow, the boy that her brother swore was his bastard, sat in a nursery not to fr from where they stood. If the wrong person heard, he would be dead in a matter of minutes.

Ned’s eyes widened. “How did you…”

She couldn’t help but scoff. “Lya wrote to me on the tail end of the war. She told me that she was with child, Rhaegar’s child. She didn’t say much else, but I would have to be a fool to not connect the pieces.”

“Lysa…” Ned’s eyes were wide. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“As if you would have believed me,” she whispered out. “You’re passing off our sister’s child as your own and you haven’t told anyone, not even your wife. You are protecting the only person left alive who could pose a major threat to your friend’s reign yet you speak to me of slighting the crown?”

“The boy is but a babe, he poses no threat to Robert,” Ned insisted. “What poses a threat to Robert is what people will say if you leave him standing at the altar.”

“Babes grow, Ned!” Lysa yelled. “Jon will not be a babe forever. What happens if he decides to take back his family’s seat? What happens if he and Robert go to war? Who do you support then?”

“That won’t happen,” Ned hissed. “I can’t tell Robert, you know he’ll kill the boy. Do you really want to see him kill our sister’s child?”

“Of course not,” Lysa hissed back. “But you want me to marry the man who would kill a child simply because they came from the wrong family! I can’t marry him, Ned. I can’t be his wife.”

Bejen stood there, looking between the pair. “Jon is Lya’s baby?”

“You have to marry him, Lysa.” Ned insisted, ignoring his younger brother. “If you don’t, it could be war. I don’t want to have to go to war for another one of my sisters.”

“I don’t love him!” Lysa yelled, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

“You think that I loved Catelyn when I married her?” he yelled back. “I married a woman who was in love with my dead brother. I understand what you’re feeling Lysa, I  really do. But we all have to make sacrifices. This is yours.”

Lysa just stood there as her brother grabbed the maiden’s cloak from the bed and fastened it around her shoulders. 

“Please don’t ask me to do this,” she pleaded as he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Sometimes I don’t get a choice, Lys. Sometimes I don’t even get a say.”

 

Benjen had taken a spot at the back of the crowd, his heavy black cloak causing his shoulders to sag ever so slightly. Ned had sent him from her room when he had offered to help he run, despite everything Ned had told them.

“You need to tell her,” Lysa said as her older brother led her down a snowy aisle towards the ancient weirwood that sat in the center of Winterfell's godswood.

His brow crinkled, but he didn’t look over at her. “What?”

“You need to tell Catelyn about Jon. Don’t let her hate the boy because she thinks he’s your bastard.” Lysa gripped his arm, keeping her eyes forward as she drew closer to were Robert and the Septon stood. “Wait until Robert and I leave though.”

“She won't understand,” he said.

“Yes she will,” Lysa insisted.

“And how do you know?” His volume dropped as the reached the end of the aisle.

She looked over at him, catching his gaze. “Because I would.”

“Who comes before the Old Gods and the New on this day?” The Septon asked. 

“Lysara of House Stark comes forth the be Wed. A woman grown, true born and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods, old and new.” Ned spoke, his voice tense as he spoke the traditional words for everyone to hear. “Who comes to claim her?”

Robert took a step forward towards them. “Robert of House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” His voice was gravelly as he took in the sight of the women before him. 

Lysa’s eyes were still puffy from crying, and the crown she wore sat slightly askew on her head.

“Who gives this woman to be wed?” the Septon asked, speaking a line that in a traditional northern ceremony would be spoken by the groom.

Lysa had to remind herself that this was not a traditional northern ceremony. It was a compromise, a mix of the traditions of the old and the new, that was designed to please both bride and groom, who both wished to be married before their own gods.

“Her brother, Eddard of House Stark, Lord Paramount of the North, Lord of Winterfell.” She could tell that even after almost a year and a half, the title was still foreign to him.

“Lady Lysara,” the Septon spoke, “do you take this man?”

Lysa looked up at him. He towered over her petite figure as she stepped forward. “I take this man.” Her voice sounded stronger than she thought it would as she met the eye of the man that she would spend the rest of her days bound to.

The Septon smiled at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he did so. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

His hands reached forward unclasping her maiden’s cloak, letting it slip from her shoulders into Ned’s hands, no doubt it would be used for his own daughters, should he have any. The chill that ran through the trees brushed her skin, causing her to shiver.

Robert hastily unclasped his own cloak, draping it over her shoulders, officially making her his.

She looked up at him once more, his blue eyes almost dull as they turned to face the Septon. Her hand found his as they raised them for the Septon to wrap, binding them physically.

The Septon wrapped a wide strip of fabric over their joined hands speaking as he did so. “In the sight of the Old Gods and The Seven, I hear by seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

The fabric that had been chosen for this moment was soft and familiar, probably a thin wool that had been made in Watertown.

He stepped back, gesturing to the two of them. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

She held his hand tight as she slowly allowed her gaze to meet his. It was not one of joy or love like she had always hoped for. It was a look of sorrow as he stared down at her.

They spoke the vows of the seven in unison, their voices blending in beautiful harmony, as the held each other's gaze. It was all Lysa could do not to cry. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek as they finished the vows.

“Let it be known, that from this day Lysara of the House Stark and Robert of the House Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul.” The Septon unbound there hands, but before she could pull away, Robert grabbed her hand, twisting his fingers through hers. “Cursed be he who would seek to tear them from one another.”

Lysa turned to look at him as the ceremony drew to it final, a kiss to seal the union.

Robert faces her, rubbing a finger down her cheek, brushing away the stray tear. She let her eyes closed as his lips met hers for a brief moment.

She blinked when he pulled away, straightening the crown on her head as he did. He turned to the crowd, his hand still grasping her own. “Long live Queen Lysara!” he called out.

“Long live Queen Lysara!”

 

The feast following the ceremony was tense. Lysa sat in her seat, her new husband's cloak still resting around her shoulders. Neither of them moved from their seats, both barely touching the food and wine that was placed before them.

The fires that lit the room still burned bright when she heard the call.

“Time for the bedding!” 

She tensed at the cheers that followed, gripping the arms of her chair at the head of the table.

“No!” Robert’s voice echoed over the crowd, silencing them all in an instant. “There will be no bedding ceremony. My wife is not a common harlot for you to strip down. She is the Queen and will be treated as such.” 

He held out his hand, big and callused, for her to take. She gently placed her hand in his grip, rising to her feet as she did so. He led her away from the head table and towards the door, the crowd parting silently as they passed.

She held tight as the doors opened, releasing them into the hall. A group of lords and ladies followed as they made their way to the king's suit, where they would spend the night as husband and wife.

She looked back over her shoulder at Ned, who trailed closely behind, his wife’s arm wrapped through his. He nodded, giving her a small smile as they approached the dark doors of where she would be staying.

Two servants rushed forward and pulled open the doors, revealing a large room that Lysa had been banned from as a child. The heat radiating from the fire washed over the pair as they stepped forward.

 

Lysa let the Baratheon cloak fall from her shoulders. She faced the fire, her new husband at her back. For the first time since they had been wed, he spoke to her.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” His voice was rough as if he had been screaming or crying recently. Maybe he had been and she just hadn’t noticed.

She looked over her shoulder at him. He sat on the bed, leaned forward, his vested doublet hanging open. “With all due respect, Your Grace, you’re wrong.”

“Don’t call me that. I already have to put up with Ned doing it,” he said, running a hand down his cleanly shaven face. “And I’m not wrong. I’m a king. It is within my power to postpone the actual consummation of the marriage.”

Lysa let out a scoff. “You can’t be serious?” She crossed her arms and turned to face him. “I only went through with this because Ned told me that I couldn’t dishonor you by saying no. And now after we have been married before the old gods and the new, you think that I am going to stand to be the women who wouldn’t fuck her own husband?”

Robert’s eyes darted up to meet her expression. The fury at the very idea seemed to roll off her in waves. “You want me to fuck you?”

Her glare turned icy, much like the one that Lya had given him more than once. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Robert.” His name was like venom on her lips, leaving a stinging sensation in the air between them. “You wanted a northern bride and with Lya gone, I was the next best thing. You made the decision to marry me regardless of what I wanted, and now you think that you can act like my feelings suddenly matter to you?”

He looks at her, his mouth hanging open like that a fish. “You’re just a kid Lysa.”

“I’m the same age Lya was when you wanted to marry her,” She huffed, undoing the laces across the front of her gown. “Lya is dead so you married me. So now, I am going to lay on that bed and let you do what you please with my body because that is what is expected of a wife. And you, Robert, are going to fuck me at least once, because that is what is expected of a husband.” The laces came loose enough for her to let the dress and its accompanying petticoat fall to the floor. She stood before him in only her shift and her jewelry.

He gaped at her for what seemed to be several minutes before finally reacting. He advanced on her, pulling her body to his. She let him kiss her, feeling the anger behind it as he pulled her jewelry from her and threw it to the ground. She hastily unpinned the crown from her messed curls, throwing it in the general direction of her dressing table.

Robert let his vest fall to the ground before quickly ridding himself of his tunic. She frantically pawed at his bare chest as he began inching her shift up her thigh. A loud rip echoed against the stone walls as he tore the thin fabric from her body, leaving her completely bare.

Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his lips leaving heated kisses down her neck. He walked them to the bed, practically throwing her down on the furs.

She paused for a moment looking up at him. He was impressive, with scar winding over his battle-hardened torso. She propped herself on her elbows as he loosened the laces of his trousers.

His manhood practically sprang out of the confines of the fabric, pointing directly at her as it bobbed up and down.

“Last chance to tell me no.” His voice wasn’t much above a whisper over the roaring fire that lit the room.

“Don’t you want to see if us northern girls really are wolves in bed?” she taunted, her voice never wavering.

Robert let his trousers fall to the floor, stepping out of them as he climbed up over her body. He kissed her lips only briefly before letting his manhood find her center. She was wet, but not as wet as she needed to be to take him.

Robert didn’t seem to notice.

Lysa did her best to hold back a cry as he rammed into her, effectively taking her maidenhead. A tear slipped down onto the furs as he thrust into her again and again, grunting in her ear as he did. It seemed to be ages before he finally came to a climax, filling her with his seed.

As soon as he rolled off of her, she moved herself to the far side of the bed, climbing under the furs with her back to him. 

He didn’t say anything, instead, he found his own way under the furs, staying as far from her as possible. Before long, his heavy breathing evened out, letting her know that he had entered the land of dreams.

Only then did Lysa let herself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, this is a pretty dark chapter. The whole story is not gonna be this dark, but there will be a few chapters like this. I am still writing this, so updates will be slow. Probably once a month, maybe less.  
> Thank you so much for reading. Reviews push me to write more!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lysa woke with the sun the next morning, her chestnut locks a tangled mess around her face. She could hear Roberts breathing from the other side of the bed as she stood, making her way over to the water basin to clean herself from the night before.

The water was cold to the touch as she used a rag to wipe the mess from the inside of her thighs. When she was done the rag was soiled with the red of dried blood and the Remainder of Robert’s seed that had leaked out of her as she slept.

She looked back at the man whom she had shared a bed with. His face was covered in a dark stubble and his ebony hair covered his forehead. Lysa couldn’t help but notice that he looked closer to his 21 years in sleep than he ever did in any of his waking moments.

She slipped on a robe that had been laid out for her before calling for her maids to come and dress her.

The sun was high in the sky when she finally dismissed the girls from her service. They left quietly, so not to disturb her sleeping husband. She glanced at him once more before grabbing the Baratheon cloak from where it had been dropped the night before and slipping it over her shoulders.

The morning sun warmed her through the thick black material as she walked through the gods wood. 

Lysa found herself facing the sappy face of the heart tree. She dropped to her knees under its blood red leaves, letting her small hands wander up the ashen bark.

“Oh, Lya,” She sighed, closing her eyes. “I miss you so much.”

The wind whistling through the trees was her only response. She sat there for a while longer, letting her forehead rest on the trunk between her hands.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’re trying to commune with the gods.” A voice startled her away from the tree.

Ned stood only a few feet off, his own cloak tight over his shoulders.

“Maybe I am,” She answered back, her voice soft. “I just feel closer to them when I’m here.”

Her family. In the godswood, Lysa felt connected with them all. Brandon and Lya and their parents were gone, but in front of the ancient weirwood tree that had stood longer than the keep around it, she could almost feel them with her, giving her strength.

“Me too.” Her brother sat next to her, looking over the almost black pool that sat near the tree. “Have you talked to Robert since last night?”

She shook her head, turning to lean back on the tree. “He was asleep when I woke. I figured that it would just be best to let him be.”

“We should get back to the castle,” Ned finally said after what seemed to be a long while. “Cat has had the cooks prepare lunch and she’ll be livid if we miss it.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Lysa smiled and stood, holding out a hand for her older brother to take. “I like her, and I would feel rather put out if she didn’t like me.”

Lunch was tense. Lysa sat next to Robert, picking at her food and trying to avoid bumping elbows with one another. Cat sat across from her, gushing over something that Robb had done.

“Hopefully, before long, you’ll have a little one of your own that you can care for,” she said to Lysa, shooting a warm smile in her direction.

Lysa froze, looking down at her plate. A baby, she hadn’t even been married a full day and she was already expected to have a baby. She looked up at her good sister, forcing a smile, “Yes, if the gods will it.”

Robert remained silent as the topic faded away. He hadn’t spoken to her since the night before and made no effort to change that. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed at her husband’s apathy towards her.

“So…” Catelyn looked up, setting her fork down. “Are you excited to see king's landing?”

“Not particularly,” Lysa said, pushing her food around. “I hear that it’s dreadfully hot and there are no weirwood trees that far south.”

“We could have one put in the godswood at the red keep if you like.” Robert looked over at her. “But I’m afraid that I can’t do anything about the heat.”

She let out a snort, meeting the gaze of her brother across the table. “You hear that, Ned. You’ve had me married to a man who can’t control the weather. How shameful.”

Robert let out a chuckle, bringing a bite of food to his mouth, and Ned's eyes lit up with an amusement that she hadn’t seen since before Harrenhal. 

“Well, you’ll have to forgive my sister. It seems that I have overestimated Robert’s abilities.”

The Royal party stayed only a few days longer, taking time to pack the things that Lysa would be taking south with her. Many of her dresses, being too heavy for the southron heat, would be left behind. And many of her books and trinkets would be sent after they had arrived in King’s Landing.

She stood in the courtyard, her new riding clothes fitting her tighter than she would have liked, looking up at her childhood home for what could be the last time. 

“It will still be here if you decide that you want to come back,” Ned spoke. “You may be a Baratheon now, but you will always be welcomed in Winterfell.”

“Oh please,” she said, giving her brother a sad smile. “I will always be a Stark, no matter whom I am wed to.”

The siblings embraced one another, and Lysa did her best not to shed any tears.

“I love you Lysa,” he said into her hair, planting a kiss on her forehead. 

All too soon, after they had finished saying their goodbyes, the royal party made their way down the Kings Road, away from her family and her home.

The sun was high in the sky before they stopped to water their horses. Lysa had insisted on riding by herself instead of in the big wheelhouse that carried the other ladies of the court. 

She stood by the stream, her chestnut mare lapping at the cool water. Near her stood a pretty blond girl, probably the same age as she was, if not a few years older. The girl must have noticed her staring and dropped into a low curtsy.

“Your grace.” Her voice was strong and clear, the red fabric of her dress billowing around her, the golden lion of her belt shining in the sun.

“You’re Lord Tywin’s daughter.” Lysa realized. She had only seen the girl once, at Harrenhall, at a fair distance too, so she couldn’t be sure, but this girl had all the markings of a Daughter of Casterly Rock. “Lady Cersei.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet the new queen.”

“Thank you, My Lady.” She smiled at the young women. “I must admit that I am surprised to see you among the party. I did not realize that you were part of the court.”

The woman tilted her head as if she was thinking. “I’m technically not.” Her emerald eyes narrowed slightly. “When the king won the war, my father offered me as his bride, but The King had already agreed to take you to wife. So I was offered the next best thing, to become a lady in waiting for our young queen.”

“A lady in waiting.” Lysa frowned at the declaration. “I hadn’t been informed that I would have any ladies in waiting.”

“But, of course, Your Grace.” Cersei stepped forward, closing the gap between the pair. “There is myself and two others. We all thought that we would get to ride with you in the wheelhouse, but you chose to ride on horseback.”

Lysa looked to the ground before bringing her gaze up to meet Cersei’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

The blonde woman grabbed her hand, stroking it in her grasp. “There is no worry, Your Grace. We may all be southron ladies, but we do understand that you are not and that riding in a wheelhouse with a bunch of other squalling girls isn’t necessarily how you wish to spend your time on the road.”

Lysa nodded. “If I may inquire, who are these other two ladies?”

“Lady Lysa Arryn and Lady Leyla Hightower,” she said, as the two of them walked off, leaving her horse to be tended to at the stream.

“Lysa Arryn? Catelyn's sister?” Lysa asked.

“The very one.” Cersei beamed brightly. “If I may, I would request to ride alongside you tomorrow, Your Grace.”

“Of course. Perhaps all 3 of you would like to join me on horseback,” Lysa suggested.

“I would certainly enjoy it. I am looking forward to getting to know our new queen.” Cersei was dazzling as the made their way towards the wheelhouse. Lysa couldn’t help but think what a fine queen she would have made.

“There you are.” Lysa Arryn snapped at the pair as they approached the wheelhouse. “Where have you been?”

“I was introducing myself to our queen.” Cersei’s smile was tight as she stood off against the other women. “Show your respects, Lady Arryn.”

The redhead let her eyes wander to where Lysa stood. “Your grace, how wonderful to see you again.” She dropped into a shallow curtsy, her lips pursed as if she had tasted something bitter.

“Lady Arryn.” Lysa gave a stiff nod. The two had met before, many times, in fact, being near the same age, they had been forced together at any and all courtly functions. They had never liked each other. Maybe it was their shared name or their opposite personalities, but they had always found themselves in one squabble or another.

“Her Grace has asked us to ride with her tomorrow,” Cersei said, beaming at the pair. “Isn’t that wonderful, Lady Arryn?”

“Riding?” Lysa scoffed at the young queen. “It is not at all appropriate for-”

“You don’t have to join us, Lady Arryn,” Lysa cut in, her voice sharp as she reached for the reigns of her horse. “Now the two of you best be getting back to the wheelhouse if you wish to not be left behind.”

Lysa swung herself onto her horse, before leading it to trot past the pair.

“I forgot, northern sluts have no manners. Just like her whore of a sister,” Lady Arryn hissed under her breath, sinking into a curtsy at Cersei’s side. 

Lysa had heard the insults before, the other women had made no secret of her distaste for those of the north before, but this time it was different. This time, Lya was dead. This time, Lysa was queen. But she still had no idea how to respond.

“Lysa Arryn?!” Lysa asked, throwing back the flap of Robert’s- their tent. “What possessed you to think that making Lysa Arryn one of my ladies was a good idea?”

Robert was leaning back on the bed, a book in hand, resting over his shirtless chest. He shot up at the sight of her, reaching for the discarded tunic that laid near the fire. “What’s wrong with her?” he huffed, slipping the shirt over his body, covering the scar the Lysa had seen on their wedding night.

The woman began pacing, her riding boots wearing a path in the summer grass. “She hates me, Robert. She always has.”

“I thought that the two of you were friends.” He reached out to grab her arm, halting her steps. “Sit down, you’re making me dizzy.”

“No,” Lysa spat, plopping next to him on the featherbed. “Lysa has never liked me, nor I, her, for that matter. Besides, she’s completely mental.”

“Well, you can’t just remove her from her post as one of your ladies.” he sighed, leaning back. “She’s the wife of my hand. Putting her aside... it would be an insult to her husband and his house.”

Lysa groaned, covering her face with her hands. “You’re not understanding me, Robert. The way she talked to me…” She was grateful that he could not see the tears in her eyes. 

“You don’t have to listen to her,” Robert sighed, laying back once more. “You’re the queen, make sure that she knows her place with you.”

“Is that what you did with Ned?” Lysa’s voice slipped out before she could help it.

Robert pushed up to look at her, confused by the statement. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she sighed, standing up. “Ned just treats you different now, that's all. It’s almost like he’s scared of you. Of… your title.”

“So you noticed that too?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“How could I not? I remember the way you two were at-” Harrenhal. Harrenhal was the only place that Lysa had seen Robert and Ned together before the war, the place where everything changed. “It’s not important. I’m just going to go to bed. Goodnight Robert.” Lysa turned to the flap of his tent, her back stiff.

“Lysa, stop.” Robert reached for her, grabbing her arm. “We’re expected to share a bed, at least until we get to King’s landing.”

She froze, not bothering to free herself from his grip. They had shared a bed in Winterfell, if only for the simple reason that her old room was not fit for her new status and her and Robert kept such different schedules. 

She rose early, before sunrise, and spent her days in the godswood, praying, or in the library, reading, or just beyond the walls of winter town, riding, daydreaming or anything else that caught her fancy, retiring shortly after she took super, normally alone.

Robert, on the other hand, did not rise until midday, and spent his days in meetings or hunting or whatever else he enjoyed, before spending his nights in the brothel in winter town, drinking till he could not remember his own name and taking as many women as he wanted, simply because he was the king, not coming home until the sun was rising and Lysa was already awake.

Lysa’s mind flashed back to the night after their wedding. He hadn’t waited more than 24 hours before finding himself in a tavern, drinking and whoring, before he came stumbling into her bed, his breath heavy with mead.

_ “Lyanna.” _

Lysa shuttered, pulling away from him, not bothering to move. “You’re not going to call me her name again, are you?” She looked back over her shoulder, catching his confused face.

“What?”

“Of course you don’t remember.” Lysa let out a scoff, moving her eyes back to the opening in the tent. It would be so easy, she was Queen, after all, her word was practically law. She could ask, no, she could demand the men to set up a separate tent for her, and they would do it, embarrassment to Robert be damned.

“What don’t I remember?”

“You were so drunk, I can’t imagine that you would be able to recall, but the night after our wedding, after you where done drinking and whoring and whatever else it is that you do at night, you fell back into my bed, where you proceeded to paw at me, like a green little boy, and call me my sister’s name until you fell unconscious.” She didn’t bother to look at him, she knew by the sharp intake of breath that he knew what she was talking about. 

“Lysa…” He reached for her again, trying to turn her to face him, but she wouldn’t budge.

“You can take the bed,” she hissed, pulling on a bundle of furs from the bed and throwing them on the ground.

He watched her, ever so intently, as she set up a place for herself on the other side of the tent, as far away from him as possible. When she was pleased with her work, she made busy pulling her riding clothes from her weary form, stripping down to her small clothes.

“You’re not going to sleep on the ground,” Robert sighed.

“Well, I’m not sleeping in the bed with you, either,” Lysa insisted, throwing her riding jacket at her trunk.

“You’re my wife,” he said, pulling her towards the bed. “It’s not as if we haven’t been sharing a bed these past weeks.”

“You always come to bed drunk and normally after I’ve already risen for the day.” She pulled herself away from him, making her way back to her trunk to fish out a nightgown.

“What if I promise not to?”

Her hands stopped, gripping the rumpled fabric of the dress that she held.

She met his eyes, blue and clear, sober for the first time since their wedding night. “You promise you’ll stay sober when we’re on the road? You won't drink or whore?”

“Yes.” Robert reached into her trunk pulling a woolen shift from the pile of clothing. “I’ll even share the blankets from time to time.”

She let out a sharp huff, grabbing the shift from his hands. “Fine.”

She stripped down to her corset as he picked up the furs that she had thrown on the ground.

“Do you want me to get a ladies maid to help you?” Robert asked.

“No,” Lysa sighed, her back to him. “This one laces up the front.” She pulled at the laced until they were loose enough for her to shimmy out of constricting garment. She swiftly slipped the shift over her bare body before turning back to him. He sat back on the bed, pulling the blankets aside for her to slide underneath. 

She shimmied under the covers, turning so her body was as far away as she could make it without falling off the cot. 

“Goodnight,” Robert said, blowing out the candle, sending the tent into darkness.

When Lysa woke up, the cold northern air nipped at his cheeks. The tent was cold, but under the furs, she was practically drenched with sweat. She looked over her shoulder at Robert who had pulled her against him in the middle of the night. His skin burned against her skin, his arms winding around her, holding her in place. 

She let out a groan, pushing at his arms. “Get off.” Her stomach rolled as she fought against his embrace. 

He only huffed, pulling her closer. “Go back to sleep.”

“It’s nearly dawn,” she huffed, finally pulling herself free. “My gods, why are you so warm?” She pushed herself off the cot. Her back was wet with sweat and her stomach turned in the most uncomfortable way. She leaned back against her trunk, wiping the dampness from the back of her neck.

Robert huffed, rolling onto his back. “You’re the one who was pushed up against me last night.” He let his tired eyes fall over her. “You look a little pale. Are you alright?”

“I'm from the north, I’m always this pale.” Lysa stood and began rummaging through her trunk for her riding outfit. “We should get ready so we can leave at a decent time.”

The caravan had gotten to a slow start the day before and Lysa was hoping to make up for lost time.

“Whatever you say.” Robert threw his arm over his eyes. 

“My ladies will also be riding with me today if you don’t mind.” She slipped off her night shift and back into her small clothes from the day before. “All except Lysa Arryn. She’ll be riding in the wheelhouse that's been set aside for my ladies and me.”

“You can’t just push her aside.” Robert sighed, swinging his legs off the bed.

“I’m not,” she spat back, pulling on her riding trousers. “She made her distaste for horseback clear. She will be more comfortable in the wheelhouse while Lady Lannister and Lady Hightower ride with me.”

“So you’re making her travel alone?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Try not to be so transparent Lysa. Everyone will know that you’re trying to punish her for whatever reason.”

“I’m not punishing her for anything,” Lysa said, slipping her tunic over her body. “Besides no one could blame me if I was. Not after what she said to me yesterday.”

“What did she say?” Robert’s' voice was curious as he dug through his own trunk to find a set of clean clothes.

“Only that I was a northern slut with no manners.” She pulled on her riding jacket, tightening the laces in the front. “Just like my whore of a sister.”

She hadn’t meant to say it, to tell Robert that. It had slipped out, and she knew as soon as she said it that she had made a mistake. 

Robert’s blue eyes were full of rage as he made for the tent flap, half dressed, no tunic and no boots, only the trousers he had worn to sleep. 

“Robert stop.” Lysa reached to grab his arm. “It’s fine. I can handle Lysa Arryn.”

The man whipped around, almost throwing her back. His eyes were wild. “She does not get to talk about you or Lya like that.”

“I know.” Lysa moved back to her boots. “That's why she is riding alone today and every day for the rest of the journey and once we get to the red keep I will see what I can do as far as dismissing her. You can talk to Jon about it tonight if you wish but I have it handled.” 

She stamped one foot on the ground, making sure her boot was securely in place. 

“She will be handled by me and Jon.” His voice was thick as he made his way back to his trunk, dressing for the day.

“What do you mean?” Lysa Arryn looked down at the riding clothes that she had dawned for the day. “I thought we were to ride with you.”

Lysa swung herself up onto her horse, a chestnut mare. “You made your distaste for riding very clear yesterday so I had your horse relocated to one of my ladies maids.”

Cersei and Leyla looked on from atop their own mounts. 

“But we were all told that you wished for your ladies to ride with you for the remainder of the journey.” The red hair women's mouth burrowed into a thin line.

“Well, yes, but you said it yourself that you find riding distasteful.” Lysa looked back at Cersei. “Did she not say that Lady Lannister?”

“She did, Your Grace.” Cersei’s green eyes where a light like wildfire. 

“Yes,” Lysa turned back to the other woman, “and I’ve already had your horse assigned to one of my ladies maids, as I have said.”

Lady Arryn looked around the clearing as if trying to find the horse in question. “Then what am I to do? Walk like a commoner?”

“You could always mount up with your husband, Lady Arryn.” Leyla’s brown eyes were wide as she suggested the idea.

“Or I have readied a wheelhouse. Not a big one, of course, but it is adequate.” Lysa looked over to the smaller wheelhouse that she had asked to be prepared for Lysa that morning.

“But, I’ve already packed away all of my books and embroidery to be sent ahead. I was under the impression that I would be riding.” If it was possible, the woman’s lips got even thinner, as if retreating into her mouth.

“Well, that is unfortunate.” Lysa reached back into her saddle-bag, pulling free a book that she had snagged from the library at Winterfell. “You may borrow my book if you like.”

“Can I not be given my horse back?” 

“Weren’t you listening, Lady Arryn.” Lysa clicked her tongue. “I have already given your horse to one of my lady’s maids. What kind of queen would I be if I took it away just after I have given it? No, you may either ride in the wheelhouse that is prepared, or you may mount up with your husband.”

She extended the book once more. “It is only Northern tales, but they are some of my favorites. Please do be careful with them.”

Lysa Arryn grabbed the book with a huff before making her way towards the wheel house.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Chapter 3**

Lysa woke up sick for the fifth day in a row. Her head pounding and her stomach emptying its contents into a bucket. This morning they were mercifully staying in an inn and where only a days ride from King's Landing.

“You’re seeing a maester as soon as we arrive at the red keep,” Robert said firmly, coming up behind her.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of the tunic that she wore. It was one of his, she had stolen it from his trunk when the weather had turned to warm for any of her night shifts. “It’s probably something that I ate.”

“I would believe that if it wasn’t happening every morning for the past week.” He sat next to her, running one of his large hands down her back. “You’ve been tired as well.”

She let out a sharp laugh, pulling away from him. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I’m your husband,” he stood, holding out a hand for her, “It's my job to notice if you aren’t well.”

“I’m fine,” Lysa insisted, taking his hand. He pulled her from the floor with ease, practically lifting her into his arms.

She pushed away, making her way to where she had laid her riding clothes. The brown trousers would need mending when they arrived in the city and the boots would probably have to be gotten rid of, but the jacket was in good condition even after their month on the road.

They were both quiet as they dressed, neither wanting to talk for risk of mentioning the mysterious illness that Lysa had contracted.

When they mounted up for the day Lysa quickly found her place between Cersei and Leyla. Lysa Arryn begrudgingly retreated into her wheelhouse with nothing to do but daydream.

“She certainly won’t be crossing you again, Your Grace,” Cersei smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she withdraws as one of your ladies.”

“She won't,” Leyla chimed in, twisting a strand of light brown hair around her finger. “For her to withdraw and still stay at court… it would be a huge insult to the crown. Her husband will never allow it.” The girl sounded much older than her 13 years.

“She’s to be dismissed anyway,” Cersei pointed out. “Either way, she walks away shamed. She has failed her queen.”

She was the oldest of the trio at nearly 17 years, and while she was not married, it was not for lack of offers, though most of the suitors were not appropriate.

Their horses trotted forward, past the wheelhouse. 

“I wouldn’t be able to stand it,” Leyla sighed. “Being dismissed as a Lady and then having to stay in court? She’ll never be allowed into any social circles ever again.”

“It hardly matters. Jon was as furious as Robert when he heard of her behavior,” Lysa said. “He’s the one who’s pushed for her dismissal. He says that there are other things that she should be focusing on instead. Whatever that means.”

“Perhaps he means for her to be with child. They’ve been married for over a year and she has yet to conceive an heir,” Cersei noted. 

“He was away at war for a good part of that though.” Lysa pointed out.

“True, but her sister was with child after only lying with her husband once,” Leyla said. 

“And he wasn’t away from her nearly as much as your brother was away from his wife. She should have conceived by now.” Cersei glanced over at them. “Do you think that she may be… barren?”

Lysa and Leyla were quick to shush her.

“Don’t say something like that,” Lysa whispered. “Even if it is true, we don’t need that rumor floating around.”

“Imagine the embarrassment,” Leyla said, “Being dismissed as the queen's lady and being viewed as barren.”

“I would throw myself from a tower,” Cersei claimed. 

“Enough of this talk.” Lysa hushed them. 

“You seem rather well for a woman who was throwing up in her chamber pot, again, this morning,” Cersei smirked. “What has it been, five days where you’ve woken up ill only to be perfectly fine by the time we ride out?”

“I’m fine. It was the fish last night.” Lysa insisted, shifting in her saddle. “It smelled bad.”

“It smelled fine,” Leyla insisted. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

Lysa sighed looking at the girl that rode at her side. “I feel fine.”

“Are you seeing the maester once we get to the city?” Cersei asked.

“Robert is insisting that I do.” She sighed looking at the girls on either side of her. “Let's hope it’s not something life-threatening.”

“When was the last time you bled?” Cersei asked, pulling at her reins.

Lysa thought for a moment. “I… it was before the wedding.” She felt her eyes grow wide as Cersei let out a laugh. “No! We’ve only… once, on our wedding night. I can’t be.”

“What is it?” Leyla asked looking between the two older girls.

Lysa was too stunned to say anything, only trying to think of any other explanation.

“It seems that northerners are quite fertile.” Cersei smiled. “Lysa may be providing the king with an heir sooner than expected.”

 

Lysa had the guard lead her back to the queen's rooms. The maester had only confirmed what Cersei had guessed on the road. She was with child from her wedding night. Her heart sank. While she had no physical markers beyond her lack of bleeding, the maester said that they were soon to come. 

The old man had offered her moon tea if she wished to unstick the babe from her womb and for a brief moment, she had considered it. The little pouch of leave was shoved down the front of her corset, away from the prying eyes that would accuse her of using it. She couldn’t shrink on her duty to provide Robert with an heir, especially not with the babe already forming within her.

When she got back to her suit, a spacious room looking out onto Blackwater Bay, Robert was waiting for her. He, like herself, had changed from his riding clothes into something more appropriate for court.

“What did the maester say?” he asked as soon as the guard was gone.

“Sit down,” Lysa sighed, falling back into a chair in front of the fire. “I’m going to be fine. Well, hopefully.”

“What are you talking about?” He took a seat on the chair opposite her. 

She sighed running a hand over her face before she stood, making her way to the balcony. The room was hot, like the rest of the city, but at least there would be a breeze.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Robert practically growled, following her outside. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was weak as she leaned over the railing. “It seems that us northerners are a fertile stock.”

It wasn’t an untrue statement. Both she and Ned were to be blessed with children conceived on their wedding nights and Lyanna couldn’t have laid with Rehager too many times before she too fell with child. 

“I'm sorry?” Robert was lost, not that she was surprised. 

“I’m with child,” she said, turning to meet his eyes. The blue orbs widened with shock.

“You’re what?”

“I am with child,” she repeated, not pulling her gaze away.

His large hand immediately flew to her abdomen as if searching for proof. “You mean… a babe?” 

“If all goes well, then yes.” She put her hand atop his. 

“We only laid together once.” His voice was quieter than she had ever heard it as if being any louder would scare the child right out of her.

“That’s generally all it takes,” she couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He ran his hand over her stomach almost tenderly. “We will announce it to the court soon.”

“Not too soon.” She grabbed his hand, holding it to her. “Maester Luwin says that there is still enough time for the babe to unstick itself. That we should wait until I start showing to announce it.”

“Even better.” Robert sighed. “He’ll be our secret until then. Our Steffon.”

“You’re so certain it’s a boy?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Then we will celebrate our princess.” His other hand wrapped around her waist. “Princess Cassiana.”

“No,” Lysa said almost too fast. “Lyanna.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers. “What?”

She sighed. “If the child is a girl, I want to name her Lyanna.”

Robert swallowed hard, his adamsapple bobbing in his throat. “She’ll be as beautiful as her aunt. Our Princess Lyanna.”

 

It took three months before Lysa’s bump started showing, and more than once Lysa had thought about the moon tea that she had stashed away in the depths of her jewelry box. But Robert had been ecstatic about the prospect of a child and insisted on checking every day to see if her stomach had expanded any. She couldn’t bring herself to take that joy away from him.

“Do we have to tell the court?” Lysa asked. She ran her hands over her dress, the folds of her dress hiding her growing stomach. No one would suspect that she was nearly three months into her pregnancy. “Can’t we wait a few more days?”

She was dressed as a queen, in the same gown that she had worn for her coronation a month before. The heavy gold circlet was pinned into the braided updo that her ladies made had managed to pull her curls into.

“I need an heir,” Robert sighed. “The sooner the court finds out that you are with child the stronger my claim becomes.”

She huffed, turning back to the mirror. The dress was heavier than the ones that she favored in the southron heat, but it was appropriate for court, so she wore it, no matter how damp with sweat it would surely become.

The door cracked open to reveal her ladies. Cersei shuffled in, her red and gold gown as stunning as expected, her green eyes bright, followed by Leyla, in a gown the looked straight from her home in the reach, and Jonelle Cerwyn, her newly appointed lady, directly from the north. Despite the heat Jonelle still wore heavy northern gowns. She had been appointed after Lysa Arryn had been dismissed from her post upon the court's arrival in King's Landing

There had been whispers, of course, as to what Lady Arryn had done to displease her new queen so quickly, and they only got worse after she had refused to show up at the coronation. 

All three of Lysa’s ladies knew of her condition and were prepared to assist the young queen in any way that they could.

Robert and Lysa made their way to the throne room, arms linked as a proper couple as if they had not spent the last two months in separate beds, only talking as far as their child was concerned. Her ladies followed close behind, as regal as could be expected with the increased amount of guards that surrounded them.

The day passed as it usually did when Lysa cared to sit in. Complaints were brought before the two of them, as well as petty squabbles over simple things such as sheep and small pieces of land. Lysa sat as long as she could, her ladies standing around her for hours before she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Her corset was too tight and she hadn’t eaten or taken water since they had come from their rooms. She reached for Robert’s arm after the audiences. “Make the announcement or I will.” Her voice was quiet but she knew that he had heard it.

He nodded once, standing from his great iron chair, addressing the court. “My Lords and Ladies,” His voice boomed over the crowd, willing them to be quiet. “I have wonderous news to share with you all.”

Murmurs broke out in the crowd and Lysa Arryn paled considerably from her spot in the crowd.

“The queen is with child! Within the year I will have an heir.” It was more jovial then she would have said, but the court seemed to reciprocate his joy. Cheers broke out at the news of a royal babe.

And then Lysa Arryn let out a horrified sob, dropping to the floor like a stone. Her shrieks silenced the rest of the throne room, all eyes turning to her.

“Control your wife, Jon,” Robert spat, taking his seat once more.

The older man rushed forward, pulling his wife from the floor and out of the room, presumably to the Hand’s Tower.

“She’s probably just upset that you have conceived so early and she has yet to provide her husband with an heir,” Jonelle said, putting a soothing hand on Lysa’s shoulder.

“I think it’s time that my ladies and I retire,” she said to no one in particular. “I must write to my brother and tell him of this joyous news.” She rose, her ladies trailing behind as they were escorted out of the throne room by members of the king's guard.

She noticed the blond who walked by her side. “Sir Jamie.” She had, of course, met the knight, him being the brother of one of her ladies, but he was a favorite of Robert’s and spent most of his time guarding the king.

He looked gallant in his golden armor and white cloak, like a knight out of every story and song from when she was a child. “My Queen.” He bowed his head ever so slightly. “I must say, it is wonderful news that you are with child. And so soon after you’re wedding.”

“It’s her northern blood,” Cersei quipped from Lysa’s other side. “Perhaps we should see Tyrion married to a northerner. That way, whoever the poor girl is will only have to lye with him once.” 

Lysa had heard much about the dwarf of Casterly Rock, Tyrion Lannister. He was young, barely 12 years but was said to be quick-witted and as smart as any man.

“Lord Tyrion is not that bad,” Leyla said as she and Jonelle followed close behind. “He’s actually quite nice.”

Neither Lysa nor the two blonds flanking her missed the way the younger girls cheeks burned red at the mention of the young lord and heir to Casterly Rock.

Sir Jamie let out a chuckle. “Perhaps, dear sister, we’ll see him married to a girl of the Reach instead.”

 

The news came in the middle of the night, less than a fortnight later. Lysa, despite her weary bones, could not find sleep. She sat in front of the fire in her room, stitching away at a baby blanket as her ladies slept out on their shared featherbed that sat at the foot of her own massive bed.

It was to be a stag on a blanket of sunny yellow wool that she had received from Catelyn at the news of her condition. When the child was born and it was clear whether it was a boy or a girl, she would stitch in a name, Steffon or Lyanna.

She ran her hand over her ever-expanding bump as the child stirred. The first time it happened she had nearly shed a tear.

“Hush now, my dear one,” She whispered, rubbing a hand over her bump.

She was finishing one of the antlers when the guards knocked on her door. Their fists were loud as they pounded against the wood that stood between them and the queen

“Don’t they know it’s too late to be rousing you?” Jonelle asked, rolling out from beneath the covers. She was the lightest sleeper and often didn’t nod off until well after Lysa and the others. She shook the other two girls awake. “Wake up. Some fool is calling.”

The other two girls stirred slowly, both looking like they would rather retreat back beneath the blankets, as Jonelle fetched Lysa her robe.

When they were all decent, Cersei made for the door cracking it enough to see Barristan Selmy in his armor, red-faced and practically fuming. He was a temperate man, head of the king's guard, and most importantly to Lysa, one of the men that had served under the mad king and watched as he killed her father. Needless to say, she was not fond of him.

“I have been knocking for 5 minutes,” he huffed out. 

“Forgive us, Sir, but the queen was in bed,” Cersei bit out, her voice a sharp as any man’s blade. “We needed to make sure that we were all decent before allowing a man into the room, especially at this hour.”

“Nevermind that,” the knight hissed. “The king has requested the presence of the queen, down in the maesters solar.”

“Why would his grace send you to fetch the queen at such a late hour?” Leyla asked, coming up behind Cersei.

“Why would he need me in the Maester’s solar at this time of night, is a better question.” Lysa walked forward, a hand resting on her bump. “Let’s go before he gets too impatient.”

“Only the queen.” Selmey stopped the three girls from following you.

Lysa let out a sharp laugh. “You’re a fool if you think that I am going to let you escort me alone.”

He scoffed at the girl less than half his age. “I am the lord commander of the king's guard.”

“And I am the Queen,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her stomach. “And you are the man that kept my brother from my dying sister at the tower of joy.” 

He glared back at her for a moment before sighing. “I was told to bring you and you alone to the king in the maester’s solar.”

“Well, then tell His Grace, The King to come fetch me himself because I am not going anywhere with you unless my ladies are present as well.” Her stance was as firm as it could be for a pregnant woman her age.

“We don’t have time for this,” he hissed out. 

“Then it's settled.” Lysa reached for her ladies. “They’re coming with. If the king has an issue with it then that is simply not my problem.”

The halls of the Red Keep where dark as they made their way to the maester’s solar. Robert was outside the door, barefoot and shirtless when they got there.

“I told you, Selmey. Only my wife!” He barked as the group approached.

“I insisted that they come,” Lysa cut in. “Besides, why on earth did you need to call for me so late, and down to the Maester’s solar of all places?”

It was as if he was a wineskin and she had just poked a hole in him. He fell back against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. “It’s best that I just show you. You’re ladies wait out here.”

“Of course.” Lysa had never seen him so… defeated wasn’t the word, but it was pretty close. 

Robert pushed open the door enough for the two of them to slip through, before letting it slam shut behind them. The solar was lit with lanterns and candles that were scattered about, and on the table, there was a sheet over a body.

Jon Arryn sat in a chair on the far side of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. Whatever, or whoever, played under that sheet had shaken him to the core.

“Steel yourself Lysa,” Robert said, before gesturing for Maester Luwin to pull back the sheet.

She almost fell back at the sight. Lysa Arryn laid before her, clearly dead if the dent in her head or the odd angle of her neck was any indication. And the blood. The poor woman was covered in it, her nightshift soaked.

“What happened?” Lysa finally asked, gesturing for the maester to cover her back up.

Jon sighed from the corner of the room. “She threw herself out of our bedroom widow after she miscarried… again.” The man was obviously torn up at the loss of his wife and the child that she had been carrying.

“Again?” Lysa’s voice was soft as she let her eyes wander back to the sheet that now covered the dead woman. “How many times…?”

The once strong man had crumbled with the loss of his wife. “Too many. Once during the war, when we were in Winterfell, the night before the coronation, a few hours ago.”

“Four times?” Even Robert looked shocked at the number. “Shit. Jon… why didn’t you say something?”

Lord Arryn let out a shaky breath. “She only told me tonight, before she…” He voice broke with a ruff sob. “I should have seen it. I should have noticed when she wouldn’t leave her bed for days.”

Lysa was by his side quicker than she thought possible for someone in her state. “This is not your fault,” she whispered.

“People were calling her barren,” he let out, “and I told her to ignore it. That the gods would bless us with a child as they saw fit.”

“This is not your fault, Jon,” Lysa said again.

“What am I going to tell her family?” The man buried his face in his hands. “Her father, she was married to me so that she would be safe, and now…” His watery eyes rose to meet his wife’s covered form.

“Let Robert and I worry about her family,” Lysa hushed him before turning to Maester Luwin. “Please see to it that she is cleaned up. One of my ladies will bring by a fresh dress for her to be put into tomorrow.”

“You’ll have to escort the body back to Riverrun,” Robert said from where he stood. “We’ll make all of the necessary arrangements so that you can leave in the next few days.”

Jon only nodded, looking down to the floor. 

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Robert said softly to the man who had raised him.

Lysa left the two and made her way out the door. Her ladies stood waiting, no doubt anxious for news. 

Lysa looked down at the ground. She had dismissed Lady Arryn from her service nearly three months before, causing rumors to circle the court, and with Lysa’s pregnancy so early into her and Robert’s marriage, people had begun whispering that the redhead was barren.

_ “I would throw myself from a tower.”  _

Cersei had said it in passing months before. It had been harmless enough at the time, but now Lysa Arryn had done just that, thrown herself from a tower because of the rumors that surrounded her.

“Lady Arryn is dead.” Lysa’s voice was shaky.

The three girls before her were shocked, to say the least, and Leyla looked ready to cry. 

“How did it happen?” Cersei asked, her voice quieter than Lysa had ever heard it.

“She threw herself from her bedroom window,” Lysa said, running her hands over her stomach. They didn’t need to know of the woman’s miscarriages.

“How is Lord Arryn?” Jonelle asked with a sigh.

“Not well.” Lysa looked back at the door. “Make sure that I have something black for tomorrow.”

They all nodded, wrapping themselves tighter in their robes.

  
  


Jon Arryn left the red keep a week later, his wife’s casket pulled along on a wagon behind him.

Lysa watched them disappear out the gates and felt her heart sink a little in her chest. She had been the one to write to Catelyn to tell her of her sister’s passing. The reply had come slow and tearstained, telling Lysa to take care, and that she would be there for the birth of the young prince or princess.

For the last time, in regards to Lysa Arryn, she had no idea what to do.

 

“I need your help,” Cersei said, midday as they walked through the gods wood. Jonelle and Leyla had gone to the market with several other ladies from court, leaving the young queen alone with the blonde.

“With what?” Lysa asked, cradling her stomach. She was 5 months along and growing faster than she thought possible. She wore looser dresses to combat the heat, and for the first time since she had become a woman, no corset.

Cersei looked around as if trying to determine if they could be heard. “I was hoping we could talk somewhere more private.”

Lysa nodded, looking at the red leaves that seemed to shoot into the sky. “Would you like to pray with me, Lady Lannister?”

Cersei nodded, almost confused, following Lysa to the Weirwood that Robert had put in the gods wood. It was big, surrounded by northern plants, or the ones that didn’t die in the southern heat. Most importantly it was out of the way. Lysa was the only one in court who kept to the old gods, no one would disturb the two.

Cersei helped her down to the ground in front of the tree, the sappy face staring at the two. Lysa said a quiet prayer, for the protection of her child and her husband, before turning to Cersei. “No one will disturb us here.”

Cersei looked at the tree hesitantly, before turning to Lysa. “I have a problem… and I don’t know what to do.” Her green eyes were wide with fear.

“What is it?” Lysa settled, her back resting on the tree.

Cersei looked around once more. “Are you sure that no one can hear us?”

“Not unless there are any members of the court who have recently switched faiths.”

Cersei let out a sigh, slouching down. “I’ve made a mistake Lysa, one that can ruin me.” The blond looked ready to cry. “I am with child.”

Lysa sucked in a breath, looking down at the ground. Cersei was a gem at court, one that any lord would love to get their hands on, but she was not married or even betrothed, despite being well past the age where she should have been. For her to be with child, out of wedlock… her chances at even a semi-decent marriage would be ruined if word got out.

“Who is the father?” she finally asked, her voice soft. “We can rush the marriage. There will be talk, of course, but no one will be able to prove anything.”

Cersei let out a quiet sob. “I can’t marry him. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Lysa shot back, her voice harsh. “Is he already married?”

“No,” the blonde sniffled. “He’s taken vows, celibacy and all.”

Lysa could tell that there was more to it than that but she wasn’t going to push it. “Let's go back to my rooms. I may have something that can help you.”

The two women were quiet as they made their way back to Lysa’s rooms. He mind wandered to the moons tea that she had been given at the beginning of her pregnancy by Maester Luwin. For the first time, she was glad that she had not thrown it out.

She dismissed the maid from the room as soon as they got there, giving the order that she and Lady Cersei where not to be disturbed.

“Fetch me my jewelry box,” Lysa said, falling back into her chair by the fire.

Cersei did as the was told, fetching the small chest from the vanity on the other side of the room. “I don’t understand how jewelry is going to help.”

Lysa sighed, taking the jewelry box from her hands. She dug through the necklaces that she seldom wore and the earrings that made her ears sting until she came across what she was looking for. The pouch was small, burlap tied with string, but it was all Cersei would need to end her pregnancy.

“You know what this is?” she asked, handing the blond the package. 

“Yes but, how did you…?” Her green eyes burned as she took it. 

“Use it,” Lysa told her, leaning back in her chair. “It won't be comfortable, but it will do the job. And when you are better, we will find you a husband.”

 

Cersei was gone for days. She had caught a chill and did not want to risk infecting the queen, that was the official line anyway. Lysa knew better, of course. But the blonde was back by her side in less than a week, looking a little pale and a little thin, but mostly in one piece. 

“What about Oberyn Martell?” Lysa asked Robert that night when the two of them took dinner together. “He is in need of a wife.”

Robert grunted, setting down his spoon. “Tywin will never give his blessing. Not after the war. What about my brother, Stannis?”

Lysa let out a scoff. “Stannis is already married.”

“He says that she is crazy. Keeping the bodies of her miscarried children in jars.”

“That is not a reason to put her aside.”

“Well then, who would you have her marry?” Robert asked, crossing his arms. “Lady Cersei is beautiful, but every appropriate suitor is either already married, or dead.”

“What of Jon Arryn?” Lysa asked, rubbing her stomach. “He is recently without a wife.”

“The man is still in mourning,” he reminded her.

“But he won't be by the time he gets back,” she pointed out. “I don’t want to force either of them into a marriage that they aren’t happy with, but the fact remains that Tywin Lannister blames us for his daughter still being unwed at her age. If we don’t find a husband for her soon then he might pull all financial support from the crown.”

“Why are you even worrying about this now?” Robert asked, his blue eyes narrowing. “You’re with child, Lysa. No one expects you to find all of your ladies husbands right now.”

Lysa let out a sigh, rubbing her fingers lightly over her stomach. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Not my brother, or Jon Arryn or anyone else. It must stay between the two of us.”

He only nodded in response, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Cersei came to me about a week ago, with a problem.” Lysa looked away for a moment before turning back to face him. “She was with child.”

She could swear that Robert’s jaw hit the floor with shock. “She was what?”

“I had moon tea that I gave her, to unstick the babe.”

“Why did you have moon tea?” Robert asked, practically fuming. 

“Maester Luwin gave it to me when he told me that I was with child. He said it was in case I wanted to… hold off on providing you with an heir.” She let out a sigh. “I never used it, obviously. But I kept it, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” He pushed back from the table so hard that it shook. “Just in case you decided later on that you didn’t want our child?”

“Don’t be daft, Robert.” Lysa hissed, rubbing her hand over where the babe had kicked. “I kept it just in case one of my ladies would find need of it. I can’t even use it anymore, not without killing myself.” She let out a little grunt as the babe kicked again, this time harder.

“What's wrong?” Robert asked, rushing to her side, his anger replaced with worry.

“Nothing,” she tried to shoo him away. “The babe is active tonight.”

He reached out, placing a hand on her growing stomach, a gesture that he had not repeated since he heard the news that she was expecting. The babe kicked softly against his hand before settling.

“She’s a strong one,” Robert said with a laugh.

“‘She’?” Lysa looked at him strangely. “I’m fairly certain that it’s a boy. Besides, I thought you wanted a son.”

“I do.” He nodded, kneeling on the floor. “But a daughter would be nice too. A beautiful little girl, like her mother.”

Lysa couldn’t help the blush that covered her cheeks. Robert, for all the months that they had been married, had never called her beautiful. He had also never expressed his desires for a daughter before.

“Well,  _ he,  _ I imagine, will look just like his father.” She let out a soft sigh.

“How do you know it’s a boy?” He asked, rubbing her stomach.

“Would you believe that I saw him in a dream?” She asked, looking down at him. 

“Really now?” Robert raised an eyebrow at her. “A vision from the gods perhaps?”

“Maybe.” Lysa smiled, placing her hand on top of his. “He was strong. Everything that a king is expected to be and more. I was so proud.

“Would you believe that I had a similar dream about a girl?” Robert looked up at her. “She looked like you. Had dark hair and a northern face. Our Lyanna.”

Robert said the name like a prayer. Soft and sweet, almost as if he was talking to his lover, but not unlike a man talking to his daughter. It was a strange combination that baffled Lyanna to no end.

“Maybe it’s twins then,” Lysa said with a soft laugh. “Gods know that I’m big enough.” The statement was more than true. At 5 months, she was nearly as big as Cat was at 7 months, though Maester Luwin said it was just her body adjusting to the child.

The pair sat in silence, Robert caressing her stomach, for a while.

The fire was near dead when Robert spoke once more. “Who was the father of Cersei’s child? She must love the man if she is willing to risk the shame of a child out of wedlock.”

“She didn’t say,” Lysa admitted. “All she told me was that they couldn’t be wed. He’d taken vows of sorts.”

“A member of the king's guard, perhaps?” Robert looked thoughtful. 

“That certainly narrows it down if it is,” she admitted. “Though, it’s a wonder that she didn’t just ask for the man to be released from his vows.”

“Maybe he’s not as in love with her as she is with him?” he suggested, standing from the floor. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”

“Maybe he is, and it’s something else entirely.” Lysa shot back, taking his hand to pull her up. “Who is all part of the king's guard anyway?”

“Selmey, Horpe, Blount, Moore, Trant, Greenfield and Lannister.” It was a quick recitation of the names, seven in all, none of whom were particularly suspicious. “It could be Horpe, I suppose. He’s the newest.”

“Cersei openly despises the man,” Lysa pointed out, ringing the servant's bell. “She would never willingly bed him, and I doubt that he would ever bed a woman who has spoken against him so publicly.”

“She doesn’t really like any of them,” Robert sighed, “save her brother, of course.”

“Cersei is not that stupid. Maybe it’s not a member of the king's guard,” Lysa sighed. “Maybe it's a maester’s apprentice or something of the sort.”

“Maester Luwin has no apprentices, and no other profession, disregarding the men at the wall, requires a vow of celibacy.” Robert pointed out. “So unless she lied to you, the most likely candidate is her own brother.”

 

Lysa felt sick just looking at the blonde as they sat in front of the heart tree. Leyla and Jonelle had once again gone to the market, leaving Cersei and Lysa alone in the gods wood. 

“Are you feeling alright?” the blond asked, setting down the medal point that she had brought with her. “You look a little pale. Is it too hot? We can head back in if you’d like, or I can have a maid bring you something cool to drink.”

Lysa shook her head, looking around once more, making sure that they were truly alone once more. “Who was your lover, Cersei?”

Her green eyes widened, taken off guard with the question. “I thought that we were past this.”

“You said that he took vows,” Lysa sighed, looking down. “Is he a member of the king's guard?”

Cersei looked away, twisting her hands together. “It hardly matters now. The babe is gone.”

“You said that whoever he was, took a vow of celibacy. They are the only ones in the city, save the men who come to collect for the wall.” Lysa ran a hand over her stomach, the other anchored into the dirt at the base of the heart tree. “So unless you found yourself in bed with a passing recruiter…”

“Fine,” the blonde huffed, looking away. “Yes. My lover was a member of the king's guard.”

“Which one? I can talk Robert into releasing him from his vows.” Lysa’s heart pounded in her ribcage. “Unless, of course, that would not solve your problem.”

Cersei took in a shaky gasp. “You know.” It wasn’t a question of outrage, but a simple statement that seemed to chill the air around them.

“So it’s true then.” Lysa turned away for a moment before bringing her eyes to me Cersei’s. “Your brother is to be released from his vows and wed to Jonelle.”

“What?” Cersei’s eyes shot up. “Lysa, you can’t!”

“Robert has already made the arrangements. Your father and her’s have already agreed.” 

“I love him, Lysa.” Her voice was almost broken. “I won't be able to stay away from him.”

“And that is why you are to be married to Jon Arryn upon his return to King’s Landing.” Lysa looked at her friends. “This is for your own good.”

“How is this for my own good?!” Cersei shouted as tears slipped down her cheek.

“After they are wed, your brother and Jonelle will return to Casterly Rock.” Lysa felt her own voice break as she looked at the heartbreak in her friend’s eyes. “You will thank me for this, Cersei. You will thank me once you realize that you could have never been with him in the way that you wanted.”

“I will never thank you for anything, and I will never trust you again,” the blonde spat, standing and leaving Lysa alone beneath the weirwood.

 

Lysa slid into Robert’s bed that night, unable to sleep with the babe kicking at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gruff from sleep. “Is the babe okay?”

“Your son won't let me rest,” she sighed, settling onto her side, facing him.

“Your  _ daughter  _ is as wild as you,” he laughed, running a hand over her stomach. He lowered her mouth to the bump. “Let your mother sleep, little one. I’ll protect the both of you.”

The babe settled almost instantly, leaving Lysa in peace. She sighed, leaning her head on the pillow. 

“It’s not just the babe keeping you up, is it?” The concern in Robert’s voice was palpable.

Lysa looked over at her husband in the moonlit room. “I told Cersei of our plans today. Sir Jamie and Jonelle, her and Lord Arryn. She didn’t take it well.”

“You expected that though.” His large hand sat on her stomach. 

“I did not expect her to tell me that she’d never trust me again.” She let a tear slip from her eyes. “She’s one of my closest friends, Robert, and she thinks that I’ve betrayed her.”

“Shhh. No tears.” His hand came up to wipe the tears from her cheek. “You did a good thing, Lysa. You didn’t betray her, you guaranteed her future.”

“But she hates me,” Lysa sniffled. “I never thought that she would hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Robert reassured her, pulling her closer to his chest. “She’s upset. She reacted like this when I told her father that I couldn’t marry her because I was to marry you. She doesn’t like things that she views as hers being taken away.”

“But that’s different, you promised Ned,” Lysa said, burying herself in his arms.

“Actually, I hadn’t,” he chuckled.

“What?” Her head shot up.

“I told them that I was already promised to another, but I wasn’t.” His blue eyes met hers. “So when they asked me who, I said the first name that came to mind.”

Her jaw dropped as she pushed against her husband's chest. “You mean to tell me that you only wed me because you put your foot in your mouth in front of Tywin Lannister?”

“That’s not the only reason,” he laughed out. “Quite honestly? I had no desire to marry Lady Cersei. She’s beautiful, but I feel that I wouldn’t have gotten on with her half as well as I get on with you.”

“How did Ned react?” Lysa asked.

“He was livid.” Robert smiled, falling back into his pillow. “Said that if I was hell-bent on marrying you that I should have at least asked his permission before announcing it to the entire court. Though, I doubt that he would have said yes.”

“No,” She shook her head. “He would have. He would give you anything if you asked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, longer chapter than usual, if only because last weeks episode made me weak and the one this Sunday... I'm not sure how I'll survive it.   
> So in case I die, here you go!  
> Reviews give me life!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so it's been a hot sec, hasn't it? Well, I hated the final so it's fine. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy

**Chapter 4**

Lysa could barely walk when Catelyn arrived at court. She was nearly ready for birth and more often than not, found herself confined to her rooms. Cersei had all but abandoned her, and Jonelle was making an effort to get to know her betrothed, so often Lysa was left alone with Leyla. 

The girl was bright and chipper and always willing to talk, but she was young, spending all day with her was a tough thing to do all the time. So when Catelyn showed up, Lysa was excited in the change of the company.

“You’re so big,” the redhead cooed. 

Lysa smile, running her hands over her stomach. “I know. The maester thinks that it’s just my body’s reaction to the child, but Lord Tywin swears I look as his wife did when she was carrying Sir Jamie and Lady Cersei.”

“So that’s why you had me send more wool,” Catelyn laughed. “And here I was, thinking that you just messed up the first one so bad.”

“No,” Lysa laughed along with her. “I just would rather be prepared.”

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” The other woman asked, sipping at her tea.

Lysa sighed, thinking back to the dream that she had gotten months ago. “Well, I think it’s going to be a boy, I had a dream early on, a beautiful boy named Steffon, a true king. But Robert says that he had a similar dream of a girl. He says that she looked like me with blue roses woven through her crown. So who knows?”

Catelyn smiled. “You’re positively glowing, Lysa. Who knew that married life would suit you so well?”

Lysa nodded, looking out the window onto the bay. She and Robert had been sharing a bed for the past month or so, if only for the reason that he calmed the babe enough for her to get some proper sleep. “Robert has been kinder than I expected him to be. He even had a weirwood put in the gods wood for me.”

“I’m glad that you have found happiness with him.” Catelyn smiled, before looking away. “So I hear that my late sister’s husband is to be wed to one of your ladies.”

“Yes,” Lysa said. “Lady Cersei is well past marrying age and Lord Arryn is the only man we could find that her father considers worthy of her status.”

“But it’s so soon.” Catelyn pointed out, her face pinched. “Surely you could give the man more time to grieve.”

Lysa looked over at her good sister, her eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Arryn agreed to the engagement before it was announced. Besides, his union with Lady Cersei is Robert’s will. He could hardly say no to his king.”

“I thought that you were friends with the girl,” Catelyn said, her voice sharp. “Why would you give her to a man who probably murdered his last wife?”

Lysa held back a gasp. “What are you saying, Catelyn?”

“Oh please,” the redhead rolled her eyes, reminding Lysa that she was only 17. “You did not honestly expect me to believe that my sister threw herself from that window, do you? Lysa was pregnant, she wrote to tell me but a week before.”

“Lady Arryn had a miscarriage,” Lysa said, reaching for Catelyn’s arm. “Several miscarriages over the last few years from what I’ve been told. She was distraught, and being dismissed as one of my ladies certainly did nothing to help.”

Catelyn looked back at her good sister and let out a sigh, falling into the back of her chair. “Lysa was… I know that she was not kind to you in your youth, but did you really see reason to dismiss her because of it?”

“I didn’t dismiss her because of childhood squabbles, Catelyn,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I dismissed her because she was disrespectful. She called me a mannerless slut and Lyanna, my dead sister, a northern whore! On top of that, she was hardly a proper lady in waiting, seeing as she had no desire to serve me. She shouldn’t have even been appointed to the position in the first place.”

“Must you disrespect the dead?” Catelyn spat, standing from her seat. “Spreading lies about my sister! She would have never said those things.”

“But she did,” Lysa said, her voice hard. “Leave, Catelyn. I’m tired and you have not helped.”

The redhead stood, her back stiff. “Ned would be disappointed in you, turning into one of these vipers.”

“Ned was the one who sent me here. He was the one who insisted that I marry Robert, even after I told him that I didn’t want to,” Lysa hissed, looking away, “If he is unhappy with how I’ve had to adapt to survive then he only has himself to blame.”

“You’ve let power change you,” Catelyn sniffed, crossing her arms.

Lysa’s eyes shot back to her companion. “I did it to survive, to give my child a future. Now, I believe that I told you to leave.”

Catelyn walked out of the room, her heavy northern dress dragging on the floor behind her, leaving Lysa alone for the rest of the afternoon until Robert came to take supper with her.

“I’m going hunting soon,” he said, cutting into his veal.

“What?” Lysa looked at him across the table. “This close to when the babe is supposed to be born? Surely it can wait.”

“It can't,” he sighed, not meeting her eyes. “I’ll bring you back some furs.”

Lysa let out a scoff pushing her chair away from the table. She struggled to stand on her own but made it to her feet. “You would abandon me on the eve of your child's birth to go hunting?”

“You don’t want me here,” he tried to reason, never looking up from his plate.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” she responded, crossing her arms. “I want you, Robert. Not some pretty pelt as a reward for my hard work. But if you’d rather be in the woods for the birth of your child, then so be it.” She turned away from the table, waddling to her room.

“Where are you going?” He asked, standing up.

She turned to face him, her eyes ablaze. “I think that I’ll spend the night in my own bed from now on, seeing as you don’t want to be with me.”

Lysa let herself fall into her bed, tears forming into her eyes. She had come to care for Robert, maybe not quite in the way a wife should care for her husband, but she had come to care for him nonetheless. The announcement of his impending hunting trip rattled her more than it should have.

She whimpered, rolling onto her side, alone in the vast expanse of her room. Her ladies had taken to sleeping in their own chambers, and she hardly wished to disturb them now. 

Her tears soaked the pillow as her body shook sobs that seemed to echo through the room. She tried to remember the last time that she had cried this hard and only the discovery of her sister’s death came to mind. 

When her eyes finally ran dry, the sun had set beyond the city and the night sky was full of stars. Lysa stood from her bed, ringing for a maid to come dress her for bed and light the fire.

When she finally settled in front of a roaring fire, dressed in her bedclothes, she let herself pick up a book the Catelyn had brought with her from Winterfell, a tome of all that loomed north of the wall. She did not set it down until the sun had risen.

 

Lysa’s nightmares were filled with ice blue eyes and blistering cold. The snow whipped around her as the wind pulled against her hair until she was crying in pain. 

When she woke up screaming she could remember no more, but the warmth of her room did nothing to banish the chill that had settled over her. She looked around, relieved to see that she was alone.

No sooner did she regret that sentiment, when a sharp squeeze pulled against her abdomen. She let out a gasp, reaching to call for a maid or one of her ladies, anyone who would get a maester.

Cersei arrived first, her golden tresses braided up behind her head. “What is it?” she almost spat, walking across the room, “Don’t tell me that you haven’t dressed. It’s nearly midday!”

Lysa let out a whimper, reaching to squeeze the other girls hand as another pain ripped through her body.

“What is it?” Cersei asked, this time genuine in her inquiry. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the babe,” Lysa said, tears forming in her eyes. “It’s too soon, something is wrong.”

“You mean…” The blonde paled considerably. “But I thought that you had another moon’s turn.”

“It’s too soon!” Lysa repeated, gripping the sheets. “I need you to fetch the midwife.”

Cersei stood, making her way to the door before returning. “I’ve sent a guard. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Lysa let out an almost grateful cry, rubbing her stomach. Soon, before she had time to process it, her chambers were filled with women of the court, her ladies and her good sister sitting by her side as the maester examined her.

“It would seem that the young prince wishes to join the world early,” the midwife said, pulling the blankets back over Lysa’s legs. “But fear not Your Majesty, I can tell just by looking at you that your child will be born healthy.”

Lysa let her head fall back into her pillow, trying to tune out the chatter of the room. “Someone needs to tell Robert,” she said, looking over at Catelyn, who gripped her hand tightly as if their fight the previous day had not happened.

“The king has been informed,” the redhead said, running a cool cloth over Lysa’s brow. “He eagerly waits for news of you and your child.”

“Why isn’t he here?” She asked, looking at the ladies the swarmed her room. “The rest of the court seems to be.”

“Men aren’t allowed in the birthing room,” Jonelle explained from her spot next to Catelyn. “The ladies are a southern tradition. They’ve been invited to watch the birth of the royal child, it seems.”

“Well, uninvite them,” Lysa spat as another pain rolled through her.

“You can’t just kick them out,” Leyla said. 

“I’m the queen,” she grunted, “I can kick them out if I please. I want them all gone.”

Cersei was the first to move, brushing down her crimson dress before calling the room’s attention. “Excuse me Ladies, but Her Majesty is ill at ease with the presence of all of you at the same time. She asks that all of you return to your chambers for the time being, and wait for her call to come to her side.”

The rest of the ladies let out whispers as they cleared the room, but none of them dared to speak up against the proclamation. The room was quite beyond the shuffling of the maids and the midwife.

“I want Robert.” Lysa finally said, looking around the room. “I want him here, with me.”

“Men aren’t allowed, Lysa,” Catelyn said, trying to soothe her.

“I don’t care,” she hissed as another pain rolled through her. She whimpered, her body seizing up. “I want him here.”

“I’ll go get him,” Catelyn said, standing from the bed. “I can’t promise that he’ll come in, Lysa.”

The younger woman waved her away, settling back into her furs. When Catelyn came back, her face was almost blank.

“He said that he’ll be in soon.” The redhead looked at Lysa with pity as she took her seat back at her side. “It’ll be okay, you can make it through this.”

 

The labor lasted through the night, the pains that Lysa experienced only becoming worse as the hours passed.

As the sun rose, she took to walking around, holding onto chairs and walls, she had even slept a few hours, but Robert had yet to show his face in her room.

“He said that he’d be here,” Lysa sighed, holding onto the back of her chair. She let out a huff standing up. She walked back to her bed, tired and sore.

“He might be busy,” Leyla tried to reason, helping her sit. “He is the King after all.”

“He should be here,” Lysa let out a frustrated sigh, falling back into her pillows. A few tears slipped from her eyes. “Get out, all of you.”

“What?” Caitlyn looked almost wounded. “But… you’re in labor,’

“And I am well aware of that fact,” Lysa snapped. “Leave.”

“As you wish.” Her good sister and the rest of her ladies curtsied before leaving the room.

Lysa let herself fall into a restless sleep, waking every time a pain worked through her. The sun was high in the sky before she was disturbed by the wood door scratching the floor beneath it as it opened.

“I thought I said to get out,” she hissed, not bothering to look up.

“I thought you’d been asking for me.” Roberts' voice was tense as it carried across the room.

She brought her eyes up to meet his, “I asked for you yesterday. I figured, at this point, you wouldn’t be coming.”

Robert ran a hand over the back of his neck, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

She let out a scoff, running her hand over her stomach. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” he said, making his way over to her. His weight caused the bed to dip next to her.

“You do a lot of things that you're not supposed to, Robert,” Lysa snapped, turning away from him. “Why is coming to me when I ask any-” She let out a sharp gasp, gripping the sheets of the bed as another pain rolled through her.

“What's wrong?” He asked, scooting closer to her. “Should I get the midwife or-”

“Stop,” Lysa waved him off as the pain subsided. “It's just a pain. It's supposed to happen.”

“Are they always that bad?” Robert took her hand in his own.

“No,” She admitted, not bothering to pull away from his touch. “They’ll get worse though until the babe is out.” She leaned back on her pillows, letting her eyes scan over his face. Dark circles marred his under eyes and his scruff was thicker than he normally wore it. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He shook his head, rubbing circles over the back of her hand with his thumb. “I was worried about you, about our child. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to either of you.”

“So worried that you couldn’t stand to spend what could very well be my last hours with me?” She spat.

“I’m sorry. I just...” Robert looked lost.

Lysa sighed, looking at where their hands were clasped. She knew that her not making it through the birth was a possibility, and the child not making it was an even greater risk. Her own sister had died in childbed. 

She gripped Robert’s hand as another wave of pain rushed over her. As it eased away a rush of wetness released between her legs and she couldn’t fight the panic that washed over her. “Get the midwife.”

“What’s wrong?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know,” She shook her head, not wanting to look under the furs. “Get the midwife.”

Ned had told her that Lyanna had died soaked in her own blood, an incident during birth that had caused her to bleed out. Lysa feared now that her fate could be the same. Another pain broke through her, this one worse than all the others combined.

The women hobbled through the door, Robert at her heels, taking his place next to her once more.

“Please don’t leave me.” She grabbed his hand as he sat next to her.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lysa.” He promised, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, planting a kiss on her head.

“Nothing to fear, your grace, Just your womb opening to let the child through.” the midwife smiled, wiping her hands. “In Fact, I do believe that the young prince is ready to join the world. Shall I get the Ladies of the court?”

“No!” Lysa responded faster than she should have. “Just my ladies and nobody else.”

“The king should also leave.” The older woman insisted. “This isn’t something that you want your husband to bear witness to.”

“No!” Lysa was quick to grab Robert’s hand, holding it to her. “I want him here.”

“I’m not leaving.” He promised, pulling her closer to his chest. 

It was painful getting the child out like a fire had erupted in her bones and refused to go out. She put all of her strength into pushing the child from her. Robert held her to his chest kissing her hair, telling her how strong she was, while Leyla and Cersei stayed at her side, dabbing the sweat from her brow.

Lysa nearly sobbed when a cry finally broke through the room, fierce and load, as the midwife placed the babe in Catelyn’s waiting arms before severing the cord that tied it to Lysa.

“Its a boy!” She cheered, wiping the babe’s face clean.

“We have a son,” Robert smiled into her hair.

“I told you it was a boy.” She leaned back into him, letting out a sigh of relief, only to bolt forward as another pain ripped through her.

“It seems you are not quite through, Your Grace,” The midwife said.

A second cry broke through the room, joining the first, just as strong. Jonelle stood by, taking the second babe into her arms, wiping its face just as Caitlyn had.

“A little girl,” She almost cried. “A prince and a princess.”

“I told you it was a girl,” Robert said, pulling her closer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will have smut

**Chapter 5**

Her son, her Steffon, sat on her chest, wrapped tightly in the blanket she had stitched for him as she nursed him. Robert sat by her side, cooing at their daughter in his arms.

“Not even a day old and she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.” Lysa smiled, looking over at the pair.

He looked up at her, smiling at the sight of their son. “We’ll have to get another wet nurse.”

Lysa let out a scoff, as the boy let go of her breast. “We don’t need another wet nurse, Robert.”

She handed him their son, as she took their daughter to suckle on her other breast.

“Two babes, two wet nurses,” he said, cradling their son.

“I am more than capable of feeding our children,” she sighed as the little girl latched on. “She took to it much quicker than he did.”

“He’s just stubborn,” Robert smiled.

“Well he’s your son, anyone looking at him can tell it.”

Both the babes sported dark hair and tanned skin, and through their eyes where the milky grey of every newborn, Lysa had no doubt that they would both end up with the blue eyes of their father.

“He has your nose,” Robert said, running a finger down his cheek with more gentleness than Lysa thought possible. “So does she.”

“Mhmm. Though, besides her name, that might be the only northern thing about her.” She sighed, brushing away her daughter's feathery hair. “Do you think Lyanna would be proud?”

Robert settled on the pillow next to her, holding their son to his chest. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“Why?” Lysa looked over at him.

“Because of this, us, our family. I’m happy, you’re happy, or at least I hope you are.”

“I am.” She smiled at him. “For the first time since the end of the war, I’m really happy.”

“I think she would be proud that we found this.” He bent his head so that his lips could reach hers.

 

The throne room was full, Highborns and commoners alike, from all over the seven kingdoms, coming to see the presentation of the prince and princess to the court. Just over 3 moon turns after their birth, and Lysa was still hesitant to share them with the world.

Her name day had passed with little fuss and Robert had been as patient as a septa. But with the wedding of Lady Cersei to Jon Arryn fast approaching as well as her and Robert’s first anniversary, they could not put it off any longer.

“They’ll still be ours,” Robert sighed, wrapping his arm around her midsection. “Just because we’re sharing them with the court doesn’t make them any less our children.”

“I know,” Lysa sighed, leaning back into him. “I just… as soon as we share them, they stop being just our children. Steffon becomes the heir, the prince, and Lyanna… as soon as they see her, all the lords of Westeros will come asking for a betrothal.”

“I know. But we’ll keep them safe.” He kissed the top of her head. “If I could put this off any longer, I would, but we can’t hide them away forever.”

Lysa stepped away from him, ringing for the nurses. Robert had convinced her to bring on another after the first moon turn, and, as much as she hated to admit it, Lysa was glad for the extra help.

She linked her arm through Robert’s, letting herself be led into the throne room.

She had heard the whispers, the delight of the people that she had provided not one, but two heirs, not even a year into her marriage. The leering eyes of lords as the took in the sight of her children made her skin crawl.

When they finally made it to the dias, Lysa let out a sigh of relief as her children were set in the golden bassinet beside her.

They settled quickly, Lyanna’s brilliant blue eyes finding Lysa. The babe let out a smile, reaching for her mother.

Lysa grabbed the little girl’s hand bringing it to her lips as Robert spoke. She didn’t listen, barely paying attention to the room around her.

“Your Grace.”

Her title broke her focus from her children and her eyes shot up, landing on none other than Tywin Lannister.

“My lord,” she greeted, extending her hand. His lips grazed her ring quickly before pulling away. “I am so glad you could attend.”

“I was coming to the city anyway, for my children's’ weddings.” He smiled at her. “I do believe I have you to thank for both of those matches.”

“It pleases me to see two of my ladies well married.” She smiled. “And to be able to keep Cersei at court is a blessing.”

“I’m glad you have found friendship with my daughter, Your Grace.” He smiled peering over the edge of the bassinet. “It seems I was right about you carrying more than one.”

“That you were, My Lord.” She looked between him and her children. “May I present my children, Prince Steffon and Princess Lyanna.”

“They are beautiful, Your Grace.” Lord Tywin bowed once more. “I wish you many happy years and many healthy heirs, My Queen.”

She felt herself stiffen up as he walked away. More heirs. She had logically known that she would be expected to have more, but so soon? Her babes had yet to be weaned from her breast and she was already expected to give Robert another one.

She greeted lords and ladies from all over the seven kingdoms, all coming to catch a peek at her children.

She let out a sigh of relief when the greeting line came down to the last person. Lady Olenna Tyrell stood at the base of the dais, a little boy gripping her hand with the might of any man. She had met the other woman at Harrenhal before the war when Prince Rhaegar had played his silver harp for all to hear.

She had been nice enough, but that had been years ago, and her family had sided with the Targaryens against Robert and Ned.

“Your grace,” The older women curtsied as low as her old bones allowed, the little boy following suit in a bow. “I was so glad to hear of your fortune in your marriage bed.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Lysa said stiffly, her hand resting on the side of the bassinet. “I’m glad you could make it to the capitol.”

“Yes,” Olenna smiled, walking up the few steps that stood between them. “We met years ago when you were but a girl, Your Grace.”

“I remember,” Lysa said. Her words were sharper than she had meant for them to be. “Right before the war that put you against my husband.”

“Well, we can only hope that your son turns out smarter than mine,” She shrugged, releasing the hand of the boy next to her. “This is my grandson, Willias.”

Lysa let her eyes scan over the child. He couldn’t have been more than four or five, with his thick brown waves and wide eyes. He was looking at the bassinet like it held all of the secrets of the gods. “Your son’s heir, I presume.”

“Rightly so,” Olenna laughed. “Willias could not stop talking about the new princess and how she and his sister would be the best of friends.”

“You have a granddaughter?” It wasn’t news that the lady of Highgarden had given her husband another child, but no one had ever said anything about it being a girl.

“Oh yes, she’s a precious thing. A rose if ever there was.” The older woman beamed. “She would make a fine queen for your son.”

Lysa stiffened at the mention. There had been talks of betrothals all day, lords asking for her blessing to have their sons court the princess when the time came, or wishes of those who wanted nothing more than their daughters to serve under hers. But none had been so direct as this one.

“We are not entertaining the subject of betrothals at the moment,” Lysa snapped.

“I didn’t figure you would be,” Olenna laughed. “A new queen and a new mother, who flowered in the time of war. You are, I imagine, very protective of your pups, as you should be. But my son insisted that I broach the subject while I had your ear.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, My Lady?” Lysa asked, wanting nothing more than to see the woman walk away.

“One more thing.” She placed a hand on her grandson’s shoulder, pushing him forward. “Willias has wanted nothing more than to set eyes on the new prince and princess. If you would allow him the pleasure.”

Lysa was taken back by the request. She had been expecting another marriage proposal for her daughter, or the request to have the young heir to Highgarden fostered in the capitol. The fact that a child would simply want to gaze on her infant son and daughter… it almost baffled her.

“Of course,” she said, watching the boy walk forward to the bassinet.

He had to stand on his toes to see over the edge, his large eyes staring at the two babes with absolute wonder. Lyanna let out a giggle, reaching for the unfamiliar boy, taking his finger in her fist. Steffon simply laid beside his sister, more interested in chewing on his own toes than interacting with the new figure.

“She looks like Margie,” Willias said, not pulling away.

“She’s just as beautiful,” Olenna smiled, moving to stand next to her grandson. “Both of them are lovely, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Robert’s booming voice answered her. “This strapping young man must be Willias.”

The little boy pulled away from the crib, his finger yanked from Lyanna’s grip. The girl let out a wail at the separation. Lysa was quick to pick up the child, rocking her gently until the wails quieted.

“It seems you’ve gone and upset my daughter,” Robert said, kneeling down to the boy’s level. “You must apologize to her, and maybe she’ll forgive you.”

He grabbed the boys hand and the pair of them walked around the bassinet to where Lysa sat, Lyanna in her arms.

Willias stood in front of her, dwarfed by Robert, who ushered him forward. His brown eyes widened as he stepped closer.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said, peering into the blanket.

Lyanna let out a giggle, reaching for him.

“I think that she has forgiven you,” Lysa smiled down at her daughter.

“We should be off, then,” Lady Olenna stepped forward, reclaiming her grandson. “Your Majesties.”

With a curtsy, the pair was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

 

The babes had been fed and put to sleep by the nurses, leaving Lysa and Robert alone for dinner. A cool breeze swept through Robert's room, where Lysa had thrown herself across a lounge chair.

“Perhaps we should consider a betrothal between Lyanna and one of the Tyrell boys,” Robert sighed, pacing in front of the fire.

“I told you, we are not setting up marriages for our children until they are older.” Lysa huffed, pulling her robe tighter around herself. “They’re not even weaned yet.”

“The sooner we secure marriages for them, the stronger we are,” Robert pointed out, sitting near her feet. “I don’t like the idea any more than you, but I would like to know that our children are going to be protected should something happen to us.”

“Ned will protect them.” Lysa’s voice was insistent.

“Your brother is in the north, at least a months ride from the city. I would feel better having someone closer.” Robert looked at her, his eyes clear.

“I am not promising my daughter to anyone before she is older,” Lysa said, her voice strong. “If you want to make allies of the Tyrells then so be it, but it will not be through promising our daughter to them.”

“We will have to see them married at some point,” Roberts sighed, grabbing her hand. “Young Willas seems like a better option than most.”

“He is a child, Robert, not any more ready for a betrothal than our children.” She let herself be pulled into him. “I don’t want her to resent us for sticking her with a betrothal before we even truly know her.”

“She won’t,” Robert promised, wrapping his arms around her. “Why would she?”

Lysa sighed, thinking of her sister, and herself, both of which had been stuck with matches that never seemed to fit.

“I… it happens, sometimes,” she finally said. “But seeing as she will not be entering a betrothal any time soon, it hardly matters. Besides, we have other things to discuss. Like the ridiculousness that all the court seems to expect me to be with child again in the next few months.”

Robert’s laugh vibrated through her, echoing off the stone walls. “I did have quite a few lords ask me when the next one will be.”

“Not anytime soon,” Lysa scoffed. “I will not be bred like some broodmare.”

“Of course not,” Robert let his lips fall on her forehead. “But we will be expected to have more. And the sooner we do, the more stable the realm will become.”

Lysa let out a knowing sigh. Robert was right, of course. No matter how she detested the idea, her primary role as a queen and a wife was to provide healthy and legitimate heirs. The more children she had, the more secure her family’s position would become.

“We’re both young,” Robert said, looking down at her. “We have plenty of time.”

“I suppose you’re right

 

The sun was high in the sky on the day that Cersei Lannister was set to marry Jon Arryn. The bells of the great sept of Baylor rang out for all to hear, letting the entire city know of the momentous occasion.

Cersei, however, sat at in front of her dressing mirror, tears pooling in her eyes as the ladies maids worked on her hair.

Lysa sat in a chair off to the side, doing last minute needlework on the hem of the wedding dress, Jonelle and Leyla helping her.

“Do you think that she’ll be alright?” Jonelle asked, looking over at the bride. “Jamie keeps saying how much this match is hurting her. It upsets him to see his sister so distraught.”

“If she really doesn’t want to marry him, then why are you pushing for the marriage?” Leyla chimed in, looking up from her stitching. “Perhaps you can find Lord Arryn another bride.”

“This has nothing to do with Lord Arryn,” Lysa sighed, setting down her needle. “Cersei is a woman grown. She should have been married years ago, but ever appropriate suitor is dead or already married. Is she doesn’t marry Lord Arryn… especially if the nuptials are called off now, she’ll never find a match even half as good.”

“It’s just… she seems so unhappy.” Leyla said.

“Most women are on their wedding days.” Lysa’s voice was colder than she intended it, but her mind was caught in the memory of her own wedding day. “I know that I was.”

Jonelle almost dropped her needle as she looked over at the young queen. “But you and the king… you seem so happy.”

“We are,” Lysa said with a smile. “But our wedding day… I barely knew him. I had only met him once before our betrothal was announced, and both of us were still recovering from the war. I begged my brother to not make me do it. I’m glad that he didn’t listen to me.”

“With how much time you and the king spend alone together, I can imagine why,” Cersei hissed out, dismissing the maids from the room. “I doubt that my marriage will be anything close to the same.”

Lysa looked over at the blond, a girl she considered to be one of her truest friends. “You know that I didn’t push for this match to hurt you.”

“Maybe not,” Cersei scoffed. “But I know one thing. At least when I’m married, I won't shrink on my wifely duties in the marriage bed.”

 

The ceremony was long and the sept was hotter than the 7 hells, but by the end of it Lady Cersei was married, her brother and Jonelle to follow by the next moon turn.

Lysa’s arm was looped through Robert’s as they left the sept, finding their way to the open carriage that would pull them through the streets of king's landing and back to the red keep.

“Are you alright?” Robert asked, looking down at her. “You’re not too hot, are you?”

“No,” Lysa let out a chuckle. “Just thinking about something that Cersei said while we were getting ready.”

“What is it?” He asked, helping her into the carriage.

Jon and Cersei were already seated in the carriage behind theirs, Cersei’s blond hair shining in the sun. Her smile shined just as bright, but her eyes remained cold, and she did not reach for her new husband.

“Am I a good wife?” she asked as the carriage began moving.

Robert let out a laugh, bringing her hand to his lips. “You are a very good wife. I could never dream of being as lucky with anyone else.”

“Not even my sister?” Her eyes moved up to his.

The change in his expression was quick, so quick she almost missed it, before his smile returned. “I don’t know. Why are you even asking this?”

Lysa blushed, looking at her lap. “It’s just… Cersei insinuated that I was not properly fulfilling my duties as a wife or a queen, and maybe there is more truth to that than either of us admit… we haven’t been intimate since our wedding night, over a year ago and people are already asking when I will be with child once more…”

He reacher for her chin, turning her head until she was facing him. “I didn’t want to push you into anything. I figured that you would say something when you were ready.”

“I figured that you didn’t want me in that way.” She sighed, leaning into him. “I want to be your wife, Robert, in every way I can.”

He smiled, bending down to kiss her. It was just a peck, chaste and fast but it was enough to fill Lysa with hope.

 

The bedding had been called for hours ago and the party had lulled out shortly after, men and women stumbling off drunkenly into their lovers' beds. Lysa was hardly an exception, though not as inebriated as some of the others, she too found herself dragging her husband into her bed.

Robert’s strong arms cased her against the bed as his lips went to work devouring her neck, grinning into her flushed skin as she let out breathy moans.

The pair of them were stripped down to their small clothes, grinding against one another as if they had yet to be wed.

“I want you,” Lysa finally said, her hand running through Robert's hair. “Gods, Robert, I want you.”

It seemed her words were all he needed to rid her of her small clothes, letting his hands wander to places that she had not yet touched herself, playing her like she was a finely tuned instrument.

His calloused fingers rubbed furiously against her cunt, slick with her juices, while his lips found their way to her breast.

She couldn’t help but gasp as he slipped a finger inside of her, curling and uncurling it, causing the tension in her stomach to pull tighter.

Her throaty moan echoed through the room as she snaked her hands through his hair. “Please, Robert!” she gasped. “Gods, yes!”

The tension snapped like a cord, sending tremors through her body. He kept rubbing, unrelenting in pace as her vision turned black. His fingers continued to pump in and out of her until her vision returned.

“You alright?” he asked with a chuckle, pulling his lips away from her breast.

She let out a groan as Robert pulled his hand away. “Keep going,” she whined reaching for him.

“Trust me,” he said, stroking himself. “You’re going to like this.”

When he pushed himself into her, she felt herself come undone once more, mewling as her thrust hard enough to make the headboard beat against the wall.

“Fuck,” she sighed, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. “Fuck, Robert. Harder!”

He was more than happy to oblige, pinning her hips to the bed before furiously thrusting into her tight cunt.

Lysa reached above her head, bracing herself against the headboard as not the be fucked through it.

“Fuck Lysa,” he groaned, running his hand up her body until his finger that had previously occupied her cunt was in her mouth. “God’s Lysa.”

She sucked on his digits, moaning against them as another wave of pleasure crested over her body. Her hand that was not pressed to the headboard found its way to the pearl between her legs.

That's how he came, spilling himself inside her as she touched herself, bringing a third wave of pleasure down on her body.

When he rolled off of her, his seed between her thighs, he let out a throaty laugh, pulling her to his chest.

“Remind me why we didn’t do that sooner?” Lysa asked, trying to catch her breath. “I mean… wow. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Robert pulled her closer, laughing into her hairline. He smelled of wine and sex, his skin shining with sweat.

“Maybe we will have that next heir sooner than we thought,” he sighed, letting his hand run down her bareback.

Lysa let out a sharp laugh, rolling away. “No, I don’t think so. Let the twins be weaned before you decide to put another one in me.”

“Lysa,” He growled, pulling her back to him. He grasped at her wrists, using them to pin her to the mattress. “I may just fuck a babe into you tonight if you’re not careful.”

His lips found hers and before she knew it, she found herself begging for more.


	6. Chapter 6

****

**Chapter 6**

The air seemed to cool in the moon turn between Cersei and Jonelle’s weddings and Lysa was grateful. Though she knew that the capitol would not see the same snows as the north, the coming winter was a fitting backdrop for such an occasion. It was a sight to see, all of the guests draped in furs that the heat normally made useless.

The air moved through the trees as Jonelle’s father walked her to the weirwood tree. The red of her dress matching the leaves as if they had been cut from the same bolt of fabric, covered in a fur-lined cloak bearing the symbol of her house, a silver and black battle-ax.

The ceremony was much like her own, a blend of old gods and new, Jonelle insisting that she be married in the same fashion as her queen.

Except, unlike Lysa, Jonelle was beaming as she approached her betrothed, and it seemed that Sir Jamie was beaming right back. In fact, almost everyone seemed happy to see the two wed, even Lord Tywin couldn’t hide his grin. The only person who wasn’t was Lady Cersei. She stood tall and proud in House Arryn colors, her hair twirled into an intricate style of the Vale.

She was radiant, a perfect lady, but no smile reached her face, not even the forced one the had worn for her own wedding. But she said nothing, staying quiet at her husband's side until the ceremony came to an end.

Jonelle and Jamie shared a passionate kiss, everyone was cheering them so loud that nobody could hear Cersei’s heartbreak.

The feast that followed was grand, the dancing and drinking could rival even that of Lysa's own wedding feast, but the groom’s sister was nowhere to be found.

“Where is my dear sister?” SIr Jamie asked, holding his new wife close as they all sat in a cushioned alcove of the side of the room. Leyla and Lord Tyrion had joined them but seemed caught up in their own conversation.

“She hasn’t been feeling well as of late,” Jon explained. “And she’s hardly slept a wink the past few nights.”

“Perhaps she is with child,” Jonelle mused, her arm wrapped through Jamie’s. “Her Majesty had trouble sleeping when she was first with child as well.”

“Not so soon,” Lysa pointed out. “And that was more with worry than anything.”

“Perhaps it’s just jitters,” Leyla sighed.

“Perhaps she’s just being an awful bitch,” Tyrion said, picking up his cup. “It’s not like she hasn’t done this before.”

Robert seemed to choke on his drink for a moment, and Jon paled considerably. 

“She feels like now that Jamie is wed, he’s not her’s anymore.” the dwarf continued. 

“What do you mean?” Jonelle asked, leaning closer to her new good brother.

“He’s always been  _ ‘her _ Jamie’, her plaything, her doll that only she can have, and you’ve taken him from her,” he said, pouring himself more wine.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Jamie said, taking his brother’s cup away.

“She acted this way for ages after Prince Rhaegar turned her down, and then again when the king told her he was to marry someone else,” Tyrion huffed. “She’s always been like this. Now she’s doing the same with you and Jamie.”

“She has been rather cold lately,” Leyla pointed out, her brow furrowed. “Especially towards Jonelle.”

“I wasn’t the one who arranged the match, that was the queen,” Jonelle huffed. “I’ve simply made myself happy with it.”

“She’s been cold to me since her wedding,” Lysa sighed, leaning into Robert. “She’ll probably come out of it after you two leave for Casterly Rock.”

“I hadn’t realized, you’re grace.” Jon sighed rubbing his forehead. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Don’t bother, Jon.” Lysa reached for Robert’s cup, drinking deeply from it. “She’s upset, and I can understand why. Believe me when I say that any reprimand from you will only serve to make things worse.”

Lysa drank five glasses more, the night fading together until Robert was carrying her to their chambers.

“We’ll miss the bedding ceremony,” Lysa whined, throwing herself back over Robert’s arm. “I promised Jonelle that I would make sure her cloak made it out in one piece!”

“The bedding ceremony happened a while ago,” Robert chuckled as they approached their rooms.

“Did we get her cloak?” Lysa asked, still squirming. “I promised her that I’d get her cloak.”

“It’s taken care of, my love,” he said as the guards opened the doors of his chambers for them. He crossed the room in long strides, gently setting Lysa on the bed. 

She reached up for him, pulling at his collar until his lips met hers. “I want you,” she said between kisses, using all of her strength in an attempt to pull him on top of her.

“You’re drunk,” he sighed, pulling back. “You need to sleep, Lysa.”

“Robert!” she whined reaching for him. “Please, I want you.”

“Lysa,” he said pushing her hands away. “You certainly never go easy on me.”

She rose up to her knees on the featherbed, her hands fisting around the fabric of his doublet. Her lips left a hot trail up his neck to his ear. “I want you to fuck me so hard that it will be impossible for me to walk tomorrow. Fuck me until my knees are so weak that standing is an impossible task. Fuck me like I am the last woman you will ever get the fuck.”

She pushed herself back from him, pulling her skirts up around her waist. She was bare underneath her dress, her cunt shiny and wet, waiting for him.

He moved faster then she could comprehend, flipping her on her stomach and filling her with himself, not even bothering to rid her of the dress she wore as he took her from behind.

 

It felt like her eyes were stuck together, and all the sand in Dorne had found its way into her mouth. When she tried to move an ache spread through her head and down her back.

“Slow down,” Robert chuckled from next to her.

“Why does it feel like I’ve been hit it the head with your war hammer?” she groaned, burying her face into her pillow. “And when did you take off my dress?” Her gown from the night before was gone, her body stipped bare under the furs.

“You drank a lot,” he said, pulling her into his side. “I took off your dress after you threw yourself at me the third time.”

She turned her head, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he said, pushing her hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. Everyone was to focused on the bride and groom to pay us any attention. Although, I do believe we scandalized the maid who brought breakfast.”

She let out a groan, curling into his side. “Tell me we don’t have to do anything today.”

“You are welcome to stay in bed, but I do need to make an appearance in court.” He rolled away from her grasp.

She reached over to his side of the bed, letting it fall into the indent that he had left. She watched him sturt across the room, his muscled backside bare to her as he made his way to the table where a platter of fruit was laid out.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” Robert said, picking up a peach.

“Please,” she huffed, rolling onto her back. “You love it when I stare.”

He looked back at her, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “I admit to nothing.”

“You love my attention,” She giggled, pushing herself up, ignoring the pain as she did. “Don’t pretend like you don’t.”

He shot her a cocky grin, throwing the half-eaten peach back onto the table, before making his way back to her.

He was on top of her before she had time to react, finding his way under the furs with her, his hard cock poking at her entrance.

“I’m going to fuck you like you are the last woman on earth,” he growled in her ear, hiking her leg up to his hip

She groaned as he pushed into her, her hands finding their way around his back.

His thrusts were fast and deep, stretching her already sore muscles in a delightful way.

She let out a cry as she came undone, just seconds before he did, spilling his seed inside of her. 

She found herself falling asleep once more before he even left the bed.

 

When Lysa woke, she found her way to the godswood, under the red leaves of the weirwood. The wet nurses that cared for Steffon and Lyanna had spread a blanket for the twins to roll around on, under the watchful eye of their mother and her gods, before leaving the sacred space.

She watched the two of them babble at one another, Lyanna letting herself be entranced with the red canopy above her. It was warm out today, the heat rising back to what it was before Cersei’s wedding.

“Your Grace.”

Lysa felt herself jump, her eyes shooting over the source of the noise.

Leyla stood at the edge of the clearing, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Leyla,” she let out a breath. “Join me, please.”

The girl had celebrated her name day in the past month and had flowered not long before that, making her officially suitable for marriage. Her father had presented Lysa with many suitors for Leyla’s hand, hoping for the crown’s blessing, but none had been worthy of the sweet girl.

Leyla dipped into a quick curtsy, the emerald folds of her dress bunching on the ground before she stood making her way towards the queen.

“You look of a woman grown, now,” Lysa smiled, allowing Leyla to sit by her side. “What brings you out here?”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk as of late,” Leyla said, reaching to pull a leaf off of the twins blanket. “At least, you and I haven’t been able to have a private conversation.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

Leyla sighed, looking down at the ground. “My father wrote to me before Jonelle’s wedding. He seems to be under the impression that you don’t want to see me wed.”

“Ah,” Lysa looked at her. “Let me call for the wet nurses, and then we can take a walk, alright?”

When the twins where safely back in the keep, Lysa found herself walking through the gardens, Leyla at her side.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you wed,” Lysa sighed, wrapping her arm through the other girl’s. “It’s that when I do see you wed, I would like to see you wed to a man that is worthy of you.”

“Were the men that my father presented not worthy, Your Grace?” Leyla asked, her eyes wide with innocence.

“Not of you,” Lysa said. “That’s not to say that they aren’t good men. But you, my dear, deserve a great man. One who is kind and smart and will be able to keep you in comfort for all your days. None of the men that your father brought forth were all three.”

Leyla’s gaze fell to the ground as a blush spread over her cheeks. “Do you have a specific man in mind?”

“No.” Lysa smiled. “But I take it that you do?”

Leyla let out a nervous laugh. “You would think me a fool if I told you.”

“I would not,” Lysa argued. 

“It's just…” Leyla looked around as if making sure that they were truly alone. “I told Lady Arryn, Cersei that is, and she laughed in my face.”

“We are discussing Lord Tyrion, yes?”

“Yes,” Leyla sighed. “I know that normally he would be so far above my station, but I am a lady to the queen and he’s… well, his stature… it makes him less of a match to many, but not to me. He is so very kind to me and he is so smart. We were in the libraries not even a week ago and he was telling me stories of the Westerlands, and discussing the politics of the court. He’s wealthy too. I know that his father doesn’t much care for him but he will inherit a keep of his own one day, so he will be able to care for me.”

“You do understand that Lord Tyrion is close to two years your junior, yes?” The boy, for all of his brains and wit, was barley to his thirteenth name day.

“Yes, of course.” Leyla looked away. “I understand if you do not see it as a suitable match-”

“I didn’t say that,” Lysa said, cutting her off. “I just wanted you to understand that if this is a match that you truly want, you will have to wait to be wed.”

“How long do you think?” Leyla’s hands fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. “I am not that much younger than you were when you and the king were wed.”

“But Lord Tyrion is hardly a man,” Lissa pointed out. “You would probably find yourself waiting at least a year, maybe more, before you could be wed. That’s time where you will be unable to entertain other prospects.”

“I don’t need other prospects,” Leyla whined. “I want to be Tyrion’s wife. I want to be Lady Lannister and were dresses made of gold and crimson, and birth beautiful green-eyed babies and… and…” She stopped, taking a deep breath. “He looks at me the same way his brother looks at Jonelle, the same way that the king looks at you. I want to be the only woman he looks at like that.”

“I know,” Lysa sighed. She knew the look that Leyla was talking about. The stares that Jamie gave Jonelle from across the room, his eyes following her every movement as if he couldn’t tear himself away. Robert did it too, but only when he was well and truly drunk. “I just need you to be sure. If you want this match, it will be a lot of waiting on your end, and once it is made and agreed on their will not be any out other than death or ruin, Lord Tywin will not allow it. So, are you sure?”

The girl nodded, her chocolate curls bobbing down her back. “I’m sure, Lysa.”

“Okay,” Lysa said, looking forward. “I’ll speak with the king about it tonight.”

 

They waved off Jamie and Jonelle a few weeks later as the left for Casterly Rock. Lysa stood proud, dressed in a golden dress, her son held to her hip as he waved his chubby fist after the couple and the rest of their traveling party. Robert held Lyanna to his chest, cooing at her giggles.

Leyla stood off to the side with Lord Tyrion, her crimson dress twirling around her ankles as she cheered after that party. Tywin had agreed to the match under the condition that his youngest son would remain in the capitol. The two would be wed in three years time, and they would remain in kings landing until after the birth of their first child.

Cersei stood next to her husband, the black of her dress standing out against the bright colors of the crowd, as a tear streamed down her cheeks. Lysa had heard from Maester Luwin that she had come to him the other day, asking after moon tea, throwing a horrible fit when he denied her. 

“I believe Lady Cersei is with child,” Lysa said to her husband after the party disappeared out the city gates. 

“Jon hasn’t said anything,” Robert replied, rocking Lyanna

“She probably hasn’t told him,” she said, kissing the top of Steffon’s head. “She asked Maester Luwin for moon tea. She means to rid herself of the child. He, of course, did not supply her any, but that won't stop her from venturing to the city trying to find some.”

“Why would she want to rid herself of a legitimate heir for her husband?” Robert sighed as they made their way towards their rooms. 

“She never wanted to marry Jon in the first place. It doesn’t seem all that shocking that she would like him to think her barren.” Lysa sighed. “A barren wife can be set aside. And if Jon does set her aside, there will be few others who would want to wed her. She would be free to go back to Casterly Rock.”

“I’ll have guards on her. She’ll not be allowed outside to castle walls until the child is born. I can’t let her do that to Jon, not after what happened with Lady Lysa.”

“It’s tragic, really,” Lysa said at the thought of Lysa Arryn. “She threw herself from that tower for something Cersei has been blessed with.”

“Lady Cersei will be kept under close watch,” Robert promised, brushing a hand over the back of his daughter’s head.

 

“I need moon tea,” Cersei said, an edge of desperation in her voice.

It was almost two moon turns since Lord Jamie and Jonelle had left for Casterly Rock and the engagement between Leyla and Lord Tyrion had been settled. Cersei had become finicky at the order that she stay in the keep, and had yet to tell her husband of the child growing within her.

“Why do you think that?” Lysa asked.

The two of them were taking tea together in Lysa’s rooms, the breeze the sea cooling the entire keep.

“I can’t have this child,” Cersei spat out. “I don’t want it.”

“Is it not your husband’s?” Lysa asked, sipping from her cup.

“It is. That’s why I don’t want it,” She said, slamming her cup down on the table between them. “It should be Jaime’s child growing in me. Not… not this thing. I want it gone.”

“You had his child in you once and you came to me with the same request,” Lysa said, looking out onto the bay.

“I was unwed.” Her voice was quiet. 

“Any child of Jaime’s that your birth would be a bastard, regardless of whether or not you’re wed.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I can’t help you,” Lysa sighed, setting her cup down more gently. “Besides, moon tea won’t do you any good at this point. It’s too late. If you drink it now, you’ll kill yourself as well as the child.”

“You don’t know that,” Cersei growled.

“Yes, I do,” Lysa said, looking at the woman across from her. “You’re, what, three moon turns in? Four? Nearly far enough along to be showing, that is for certain. The babe won’t be unstuck by some herbs, it’ll pull your womb out with it.”

Cersei paled, wringing her hands together. “What do I do, then?”

“You have the child. You love it, because, on that front, you will have no choice.”

“What if it kills me? What if I die like my mother?”

Lysa’s eyes shot over to Cersei. She had forgotten about Joanna Lannister, the stunning western beauty that had bled out in childbed, just like Lyanna.

“Then we will love your child for you.”

 

Cersei’s condition was announced to the court less then a moon turn later, followed closely by the news that Jonelle was also expecting, as well as Ned’s letter to inform her that Catelyn too was once again with child.

“So many babes,” Lysa smiled, resting her head on Robert’s chest. “I do hope Catelyn’s is a girl. She so wants a little girl. You saw how she fawned over Lyanna when she was born.”

“You just want this little one to have a friend.” Robert’s hand fell to her stomach. It was still flat, but Lysa was sure that a babe grew in her.

“It’s a girl, by the way,” She laughed, letting her hand fall on top of his. “I know that I said I wanted to wait, but…”

“It’s not as if we’ve been careful, Lysa,” He said, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “Another heir isn’t a bad thing.”

“As long as it’s not twins again.”

“No, just one princess. Our Cassiana.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Chapter 7**

Lysa stood in a sept once again, for a wedding. Leyla would be married today. The wedding was a long time coming, three years. Three year and several babies later, Leyla would finally be a wife.

Lysa thought of her children, Steffon and Lyanna, who had seen four name days, Cassiana, who was just about two years born at the end of a short winter, and Eddard who had been born a few moons ago

Catelyn had birthed two more daughters for the north, Sansa who was just a few moons older then Cassiana, and Arya who had been born but a moon turn before, not that Lysa had met them or would meet them any time soon. Cersei had even provided her husband with not just a son, but a daughter as well. Robert and Myrcella. Jonelle had not fared so well. Her first babe, a little boy named Tywin, had been taken by a fever just months after he had been born, and her second, another boy did not survive more than an hour outside of the womb. 

But the small swell of Jonelle’s Stomach was a hopeful sign, and Lord Jaime’s protective eye would keep any harm from coming to his wife and unborn child.

The ceremony was beautiful, Leyla beaming in her red and gold gown, and Lord Tyrion standing next to his new wife as proud as any man.

“They look so happy,” Lysa sighed, linking her arm through Robert’s as the followed the newlyweds from the sept.

“I imagine they are,” Robert chuckled, catching the grin that spread over Lord Tywin’s face. “He looks like the cat who got the cream.”

“I imagine he thought he’d never see his son’s both married to respectable women, and yet…” Lysa smiled as they stepped into the sunlight, ready to begin their trek down the stairs.

“Imagine how happy he’ll be when I tell him that I’ve decided to make Lord Tyrion Master of Coin.”

“You’ve decided then?” Lysa asked, looking up at him. “Good. He’s got a head for numbers and I’d love to keep him in Leyla at court for as long as possible.”

“Lord Tywin will grant him his lands eventually,” Robert said, helping her into the carriage. “But, yes, I agree. He’s good for the job. It’ll be nice to have someone like him handling the finances.”

“He’ll keep you from spending all of the crown's money,” Lysa chuckled, settling down. “He might make a good hand of the king if Jon ever decides to go back to the Eyrie.”

“He won’t be, at least not any time soon,” Robert sighed, sitting next to her. “Lady Cersei is, apparently, very adamant that her daughter be betrothed to Steffon.”

Lysa thought it over. She and Robert had discussed brides for their son, as a choice would need to be made eventually. Margaery Tyrell had been put forth as an option, as well as Lysa’s nieces, but Jon had been hesitant to put forth his daughter, who was barely six moon turns old, and Lysa could understand why.

“She seems a bit young for us to be discussing this,” Lysa sighed as the carriage began to move.

“But it would be a good match. A royal marriage for his daughter to honor the loyalty that he has shown the crown.” Robert waved to the common folk who lined the streets. “We could also, possibly, betroth Cassiana to his son, and Eddie could be married to Ned’s daughter, Arya. And Lyanna, she could be married to Willa ”

Lysa took in a sharp breath, her jaw tensing as she fought to keep a smile on her face. “Why are you suddenly so interested in marriages for our children. I thought we agreed to wait until they were older.”

“Allies win wars, Lysa,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“War? Who would we be at war with, Robert?” she asked, almost jerking away

He lowered his lips to the top of her head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“It is if it had you selling our children into marriages before they’ve left their cradles,” she huffed. “I am your wife, Robert. I am the mother of your children. I need to know if we are going to war again.”

Robert sighed. “There are rumors, just rumors, mind you, that Balon Greyjoy is planning a revolt against the crown.”

Lysa sucked in a breath. Balon Greyjoy, the man who was, at one point, her future good father. “They’re true, oh gods, they’re true.”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Robert said, holding her hand tighter. “I’ll have it handled.”

She let out a shaky breath, trying not to let her fear show. “You’re going to war again. You might not come back this time.”

“It won't come to that,” He said as the carriage came to a stop in front of the red keep, “and if it does, I’ll come back for you and our children.”

 

Lysa pushed Robert back onto the bed, pulling at the top of her dress as she stared him down. The feast was still raging on in the great hall and the bedding wouldn’t be called anytime soon, but Lysa could hardly wait. She had dragged Robert up to her chambers as soon as decency allowed, barely making it to the room before she stripped his top half.

She slipped her dress from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before she climbed on top of him, letting her lips devour his neck. 

Robert groaned, letting his hands wander up her legs, under her petticoat. “You’re impatient tonight.”

“Less talking,” she hissed, her lips trailing down his chest. She licked and sucked the skin leading down his abdomen only stopping when she reached his pants. She looked up at him as she undid the laces that held him in. “Say my name.”

“Lysa…” it was breathy and short as her hands ran up and down his length. “Fuck.”

“Not yet,” she said, a grin crossing her face. “I have plans for you tonight.”

His skin was soft against her tongue as she ran it from base to tip.

Robert’s eyes bulged at the sight, his pretty little wife prepared to suck him off

When she took him in her mouth, he bucked against the bed, letting his head fall back.

“Look at me,” she said, giving the swollen head a kiss. “I want you to watch.”

His blue eyes found her once more, still in her corset and petticoat, sucking his cock like a whore in a brothel. Her hands ran over his still clothed thighs and up his stomach.

Lysa groaned against his cock in her mouth, reaching one hand down under her dress to touch herself. She was wet, practically soaked as she slipped two fingers into her self. They weren’t as long as Robert’s but she knew how to please herself.

She let her mouth come away from him with a pop. Still touching herself, she made her way up his body, coming to a stop right over him.

“Lysa.” his eyes were fogged with pleasure as she lowered herself down.

She sheathed him completely inside of her, rolling her hips against him, and she rode him. The bed creaked under them as she bounced up and down, balancing herself against his chest.

“Yes,” she breathed, pushing her skirts up to her waist. Her hand fell to the sensitive nub that sat right above where Robert penetrated her. “Yes!”

Even as her own pleasure rolled through her she ground down on him, bringing her own finish more than once before he followed her over the edge.

She collapsed down on his chest, straining to get enough air.

“My gods,” Robert whispered, running a hand over her hair. “That was…”

She let out a laugh, rolling off of him. “Do you think they heard us downstairs?”

He looked at her, his blue eyes clear. “If they didn’t that time, they will the next.”

“Next time?” she questioned, rolling back, supporting herself with her hands on either side of his head. “Well, I will only consent to ‘next time’ if you undo this infernal corset.”

 

Lysa was awake first, but she had no desire to move from her spot. Robert had rolled on top of her the night before, his face pushed into the crook of her neck as he held her close. She didn’t move, save her hand that she ran through his hair.

She didn’t know how long she’d laid like that when he finally woke, kissing the tender skin of her neck. “What time is it?”

“Not as late as you think,” she smiled. “The servants haven’t even been in yet.”

“That’s good,” he sighed, settling against her. “I’m surprised I didn’t sleep longer.”

“Did I tire you out, Your Grace?” she teased, hooking her legs around his. “Finally, something none of the other girls can do.”

“You, my lady, are nothing but trouble,” he laughed, kissing the underside of her jaw.

“I am too much like my family, I’m afraid,” she smiled. “You know how us Stark girls are, nothing but mayhem. Wolf’s blood and all. Gets us into all sorts of trouble. Lya had it, as you well know. Don’t act shocked that I have it too.”

He pulled away, his shoulders tensing as he rolled off of her and to the other side of her bed. “I need to get ready for court.”

“Court? Why would you need to be down there so early?” Lysa asked as he climbed out of bed walked towards the servant's bell. “Robert. What's wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he sighed, his back still to her. “It’s really nothing.”

“Then why did you get cold all of a sudden? Did I say something?” She pushed the furs away, ignoring her aching body as she stood.

He turned to face her, his eyes trailing down her body. “You look so much like her.” It was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make her recoil.

“What?”

“You look so much like her, sometimes it’s easy to forget that you’re not her.” His eyes raked over her skin. “Sometimes I forget. I forget for days that the two of you were different people, that you’re the one who I take to my bed and that she’s dead.”

Lysa’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Oh…” she turned away from him, reaching for the silk robe that was thrown over the back of the chair, only to find herself stopping short. Robert had gifted it to her on her name day the year before. It was one of the finest things that she owned, Tyroshi silk, hand died in shades of blue, Lyanna’s favorite color.

Her mind flashed to the lemon cakes that were delivered to her weekly at his request, and the blue winter roses at her coronation, the way he looked at her after he was well and truly drunk and how sometimes, when his cock was buried inside of her, her name didn’t sound quite right as it spilled from his lips.

“You still love her more than me,” she said with a gasp, the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. “My sister is dead, and somehow, you still love her more than me.”

“Lysa.” He reached for her, but she shook him off.

“I have given you children!” She yelled out, turning to face him. “I have given you my body and my life!”

“I-” he couldn’t even choke out a word as he looked at her, naked and sobbing in the morning light.

“I knew that this would happen. I knew it. I told Ned as much, and yet somehow… somehow you convinced me that I was more important to you then she was.” Lysa hissed, making her way back to the bed. “She didn’t even love you!”

“You don’t know that!” he shouted back. “You don’t know anything about what we had!”

“Oh, I know plenty,” her voice was low and dangerous. “She never wanted to marry you. She never loved you! Here you are,  _ years _ later, still in love with her ghost. I have been your wife for the past five years. I have given you four healthy children, and yet, you still love my  _ dead sister _ over me.”

“Lysa-”

“Get out.” 

“Lysa-”

“Get out!”

There was no room for argument, no possible way he could fight her, not now, not in her chambers.

So he dressed, slipping on his clothes from the night before and walking away.

 

Lysa barely left her rooms. She had her children brought to her and most nights she would sleep with Steffon and Lyanna on either side and Cassiana across her legs or her chest. Eddard’s cradle had been moved next to her bed and she had taken to feeding him every time he cried for it instead of just once a day.

Robert stayed away and the nurses were dismissed every morning. Lysa didn’t call on either of her ladies or even Jonelle, who was set to leave less than a moon turn after the wedding. They would all be busy with their own husbands and Lysa was far too invested in her children to care for their company anyway.

But a morning, more than a week after she had banished her husband from her, Steffon and Lyanna had wanted to go play in the gardens and Cassiana had toddled after them as she was prone to doing.

Eddard napped in his cradle, leaving Lysa to her thoughts as she lounged on her balcony. She had forgone a chair, instead choosing to lay flat against the hot stone beneath her, a wineskin as her only company.

“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight.”

Lysa didn’t even move, she knew the voice too well. The sharp tone it carried was familiar in a way that made her head hurt.

“Go away, Cersei,” Lysa sighed, not even bothering to open her eyes.

“Does that mean that we’re allowed to stay?”

Lysa shot up so fast her head spun. Cersei was there, her blue dress flowing around her, but she was joined by Jonelle and Leyla, both sporting the red of their new house.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have husbands who need you?” 

Leyla smiled, walking to join Lysa on the ground. “Our husbands are perfectly capable of going without us for a few hours.”

Lysa nodded watching as Jonelle and, to her shock, Cersei both sat next to her as well. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“Of course it makes sense,” Cersei huffed. “Besides, no one but your child has seen you since the feast, which you and the king left early. People are starting to worry.”

“By people, she means us,” Jonelle corrected, reaching for her hand. “We’re your friends, Lysa. Whatever has happened, we want to help you.”

“What makes you think something has happened?” Lysa asked, reaching for the wineskin. She hadn’t bothered with a glass, instead choosing to drink straight from it.

“Well, for starters, I have never known you to hide,” Cersei pointed out, grabbing the wineskin from her hands. “I’ve also never known you to drink without offering to share.”

“The king has been acting strange as well,” Leyla said. “He sleeps in her solar most nights. He hasn’t been riding lately. The only time he’s not working is when he’s drinking and…”

“And going to the brothels,” Cersei finished. “Though he normally comes back in the middle of the night, drunk and frustrated, pulling Jon from bed to start work once more.”

“Neither of you have been yourselves since the wedding,” Jonelle sighed, resting a hand on her bump. “You were fine at the feast, and I’d wager that you sneaking away early was so that you could bed your husband. So, what happened?”

Lysa let out a sniffle, reaching to take the wineskin back from Cersei. She drank deeply, tilting her head back. When she finally stopped, her company was staring at her.

“He still loves her,” she said, setting the wineskin at her side. “My sister has been dead for almost 6 years and yet…”

“Oh, Lysa,” Jonelle sighed, reaching for her hand. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Except it is,” Lysa scoffed, looking down at her hands. “He forgets that I’m not her, that she is not his wife. He told me so himself.”

Leyla let out a gasp. “He…”

“That bastard,” Cersei hissed, her green eyes narrowing. “How do you forget which sister you’re married to?”

Lysa nodded, letting the tears fall down her cheeks. “I knew it would happen. I knew it the day we were married, that he would never love me like he had loved her. I knew it, but I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe he loved me like that. After five years, surely he couldn’t love a dead woman more than me. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Cersei wrapped her arms around Lysa, letting her sob. “He doesn’t deserve you. He never will.”

She spent the rest of the day drinking with her ladies, calling Eddard’s nurse to fetch him from her rooms. 

“He’s actually very good,” Leyla giggled, lounging across the rug in front of the first place. The sun had long since set and Lysa and her Ladies, save Jonelle who had always drank less anyway, were well and truly drunk.

“You do realize that he is my brother, right?” Cersei giggled, downing the rest of her glass. “I don’t particularly care how he is in bed.”

“But he’s very good,” Leyla squealed. “You would think he would be… well, smaller, but he isn’t! He does a very good job, making sure I’m pleased.”

“Jaime likes to make sure I'm well taken care of before he’ll… well,” Jonelle let out a snort. “It’s more fun for them if they get to believe they are capable of giving you as much pleasure as they get.”

Cersei’s smile dropped a fraction. “Jon is… very kind to me. It’s not… mind-blowing, but he doesn’t force me to do anything I don’t want to.”

“Jon Arryn is a good man,” Lysa sighed, leaning back into her chair. “I wish Robert was half as good.”

“What he lacks in character, he makes up for in bed, I suppose,” Cersei said, grinning as she poured herself more wine. “After the twins, it was like you two couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.”

“Oh no, he’s very good at that aspect of our marriage,” Lysa waved a hand. “He does this thing with his tongue and.. Oh! Bedding that man is like a religious experience.”

They all looked at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.

“He’d be the perfect husband if he wasn’t in love with my sister.”

 

Lysa froze when she saw him, playing with their children in the nursery a few days later. He sat at the table, Lyanna on his lap, the pair of them looking over a drawing in a book.

“And this is where your mother is from,” he said, pointing at the page. “It’s called Winterfell. She is the descendant of a long line of kings dating back to the first men..”

“Does that mean Mummy is a princess, like me?” Lyanna asked, her blue eyes wide.

“No,” Robert smiled. “You’re mummy was just a Lady, like Lady Cersei or Lady Leyla. She became a queen when she married me.”

Lyanna nodded, looking back at the page. “Are you also from Winterfell, Papa?”

“No, I am from a place called storms end,” he said, flipping the pages. “My house was founded when Durran Godsgrief married Elenei, the daughter of the god of the sea and the goddess of the wind.”

Lysa backed away from the door. They hadn’t seen her yet. She would return when he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

There was war. Balon Greyjoy had declared himself salt king. Jonelle had not even managed to make in all the way back to Casterly Rock before she was forced to turn back to king's landing. Lord Jamie had continued to rally the Lannister forces, leaving his pregnant wife in the care of the Crown.

“Please, don’t go,” Lysa pleaded, following Robert out of the keep. “Robert, please!” Eddard was clutched tightly in her arms, crying after his father.

“I have to,” he said, looking back at her. “I figured you’d be glad to see me gone.”

The two of them had spent the past moon turn avoiding each other, Lysa had eventually left her rooms but she didn’t go anywhere near where she thought he would be. Her solace was her little corner of the gods wood. It had her longing for the north, so much so that she had even considered taking her children to visit Winterfell, but a war would make that impossible.

“You could die,” she hissed, still following after him. “What then? Steffon is four. He is not old enough to be a king.”

“I’m not going to die,” Robert scoffed, adjusting his armor. 

“That’s what my father said,” she almost yelled. “My father was wrong, you could be too.”

Robert stared at her, at their son in her arms, at the rest of their children held by wet nurses behind her.

“Papa?” Lyanna’s voice was small, her cheeks tear-stained. “Please don’t leave.”

Robert motion for the wet nurse to bring the little girl forward. He swept her from the ground, holding her to his armor-clad chest. “No tears for me, beautiful girl. I’ll come back. And when I do, I’ll take you and your siblings to Storm's End.”

Lyanna sobbed into her father’s chest, almost having to be pried from him when he tried to let her go. Steffon was quick to take his sister’s place in his father’s arms.

“I don’t want to be king,” he said, his nose red with snot.

“You will be one day. But that will not be a very long time,” Robert said, wiping away his tears. “Now, I need you to be strong until I get back. Look after your mother and your sisters, and your brother too. Protect them for me.”

Steffon nodded, his lip trembling, letting himself be handed back to his nurse.

Robert kissed Cassiana and Eddie, both on the head, before handing each of them off to their nurses. 

When the children had left he finally looked back to Lysa. “I’ll come back.”

Lysa shook her head, trying to keep herself from crying. “I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “I will put down this rebellion and I will come home.”

She almost tipped forward, her forehead resting on his breastplate. “You have to come back. You have to. I can’t-” A sob ripped from her mouth.

Robert’s steel covered arms wrapped around her, pulling her face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll come home to you.”

She cried into him, her hands clinging tightly to the metal of his armor. “Please, don’t leave.”

He pulled back far enough to look her in the eye. He wasn’t crying, but it was as close as Lysa had ever seen to it. “I will come back to you.”

Her lips found his. The kiss was wet with her tears as she pulled him down to her, not willing to let go. When she finally pulled herself away she found herself staring into his eyes. “You better come home, Robert Baratheon. I don’t want to be a widow yet.” She reached down the front of her bodice, pulling out the handkerchief she kept stashed there. It was a simple thing, but the scent of her perfumed oils clung to it. “Bring it back to me,” She said, putting into his hand, “and write. Send us a raven every chance you get.”

Robert only nodded before pulling her back into his arms. “Be brave Lysa.”

She tried to hold back her tears as he walked away from her to mount his horse and ride out of the red keep.

 

Her days where simple. Wake up, breakfast with her children, be dressed, and take her seat next to her husbands thrown where she would sit all day and listen to complaints with Jon Arryn at her side to advise her. Or she would sit in council meetings all day, making decisions as her husband would have. 

“The war is draining our coffers,” Lord Tyrion sighed, sliding a paper across the table to where she sat. “We won't be able to survive another winter at this rate. We need to raise taxes.”

“Have we heard from the citadel that another winter will soon be upon us?” Lysa asked, looking at the numbers as if they made sense to her. Lysa had not been raised to worry about the numbers behind running a household. Her husband was to manage that. She had been taught how to properly staff a keep and host a party. Putting together seating arrangements and dinner menus had been the extent of her education. 

“Well, no,” Lord Tyrion huffed, looking to Jon Arryn, who sat at her side, for help, “but, the fact remains that if we do face a winter any time soon-”

“But we won’t be,” Lysa looked from the page back to Lord Tyrion. “You just confirmed that we had not heard from the citadel about any winter. Are you saying that we do not have enough money to fight this war, Lord Tyrion?”

The man blushed. “No, your grace.”

“Do you know how many men from this city left their homes and their families to march with the king?” Lysa looked over at Jon. “How many men enlisted to fight for the king, Lord Arryn.”

“Upwards of ten thousand, Your Grace,” Jon said with a bow of his head.

“Upwards of ten thousand,” She looked back over at lord Tyrion. “Do you think it would be fair to raise the taxes of the small folk when so many of their men have risen to the call for arms, to fight alongside our king?”

“Of course not, your grace,” Tyrion sputtered, “But-”

“But nothing, My Lord. We are not facing any impending winters and we have enough money to fight this war. If either of these things should change before the king's return then we will, of course, revisit this matter, but as it stands there is no reason to raise taxes.” She looked over at Jon. “If I am incorrect, Lord Arryn, please, do speak up.”

“You are not incorrect, My Queen,” he said, bowing his head.

“Wonderful,” Lysa said, falling back into her seat. “Now that we have that matter settled, is there anything else that you wish to discuss, Lord Tyrion?”

“No, My Queen,” he said, cheeks flushed. 

“Does anyone else have any matters that they wish to bring up?” The men that surrounded her in the council chambers remained quiet, their solemn eyes avoiding her gaze. “Well, then I suppose that that is all for today. You’re all dismissed.” The wave of her hand sent the men scattering out of the chambers, parchment and scrolls clutched to their chests.

“Well done, Your Grace,” Jon said, his eyes wrinkled at the edge. 

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh, leaning back into her seat. “I was worried that they would all try to force me into decisions that they wanted.”

“I’m sure that they would have tried had you not been so firm with Lord Tyrion.” Jon poured her a glass of wine, before returning to the spot at her side. 

She smiled, drinking down the dark liquid. “I am queen, and regent until Robert returns. I must be firm. Steffon is just a little boy. If gods forbid, he becomes king before he is of age… He’ll need that firm hand to guide him. Let it be you and I instead of a man like Maester Pycelle.”

“Robert will return,” Jon said, grabbing her hand. “His love for you and your children will allow nothing else.”

Lysa sighed, holding on to Jon. “He does love our children, even a fool would see it. Me on the other hand…,” she shook her head, looking into the contents of her glass, “I am not my sister, and he loved her so deeply. I don’t imagine that it’s possible to move on from that kind of love. I suppose that I must settle for being second in his heart.”

“Lysara, look at me,” Jon said, his voice firm. 

He had not used her name when addressing her since the first time they had met when he had come to collect Ned from Winterfell. It was enough to shock her into meeting his eyes.

“Robert feels everything so deeply. Love, hate, anger, joy, absolutely everything, even lust. He feels so much that sometimes he can barely process it. It’s why he was so heartbroken when Rhaegar stole your sister away.” Jon held her hand tightly.

“Because he loved her,” her voice cracked as she spoke. 

Jone shook his head. “Because he felt so guilty for not being able to protect her. Robert barely knew Lyanna, but he felt like he should have been able to keep her from the horrors that she went through.”

Horrors. There it was again, the nasty rumor that her sister had been taken against her will. It was enough to make her tense. 

“Robert believes that he failed her, and by extension, you and your family,” Jon continued. 

“But he didn’t,” Lysa spat. “Surely he must know that.”

Jon sighed. “I imagine that the logical side of him does. But he is a man ruled very firmly by his emotions. I do believe that without you, the grief and the guilt would have consumed him.”

Lysa shook her head. “He said that sometimes he forgets that she and I were different people. That she’s… that she’s dead and I am the one he married.”

Jon rubbed his forehead. “You and your sister were remarkably similar, not just in looks, but in how you acted as well. It’s easy to see how a man like Robert could allow himself to forget. I’m not saying that Robert shouldn’t be faulted for it, just that you try to understand how it could happen.”

“He loved her,” Lysa insisted. “He loved Lyanna even if she didn’t love him back.”

“He didn’t know Lyanna enough to feel any sort of real love for her,” Jon said once more. “Lysa, Robert adores you. He has since before the twins were born. You two were wed for years before he ever claimed to love you.”

“Robert has never claimed to love me,” she scoffed.

“He has. He did when you were birthing Prince Eddard,” Jon smiled.

Eddard’s birth had been hard. He had come a moon too early while Robert had been on his way back from Dorne with Jon after talks of a treaty that could wait no longer, so he hadn’t been there as he had been when she labored with Cassiana and the twins, and Cersei was still in childbed only a moon turn after birthing Myrcella. Leyla was the only familiar face there for most of the long labor that ended with her bleeding so heavily that they feared she would die before getting to hold her son.

“He was so afraid that he would lose you,” Jon continued. “He insisted on riding straight through when we received the raven, saying he loved you too much to allow you to die alone.”

Lysa let out a watery laugh. “That stubborn, stupid man. Why didn’t he tell me that himself?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, standing from his chair. “If I may take my leave, Your Grace. I would like to go spend time with my wife and children.”

Lysa waived him off, watching his back as he walked out the door, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

 

Robert’s letter’s where frequent, if a bit short, and more often than not, they were accompanied by letters from Ned.

_ “Your husband is incredibly foolhardy. I’m spending more time keeping him from doing something that would kill him than I am planning our strategy. Though I do know for certain that Robert wishes only to be home with you and your children. He speaks of all of you so fondly that it’s a wonder that he would ever leave you. _

_ “I’m not entirely sure how you’ve done it, dear sister, but somehow you have turned him into a man worthy of being your husband and king. _

_ “Do write to the both of us soon. Robert especially misses your words when he goes for days without reading anything from you." _

 

The letter from Ned was clutched tightly in Lysa’s hands as she was readied for the day. Robert’s letter was short, asking after her and the children, swearing that he’d be home soon. But words from her brother, words that spoke of Robert’s affection for her, they made her heart stop in her chest.

“Your Grace,” one of her ladies maids said, catching her attention. “I was told to inform you that there is a woman at the gates requesting a private audience with the queen.”

Lysa let out a sigh. There was always some man or woman, normally a shop owner or the sort who thought themselves above other peasants, who wanted private time with Robert or her. Most of the time they were sent away without so much as an eye laid upon either of them, let alone a private audience. 

“Did she say why?” Lysa asked, letting her voice draw out it. The northern accent in her tone was especially heavy in moments like these. She looked down at the letter in her hand. She would have to write both Ned and Robert soon, especially if Robert burned for her words in the way that Ned said he did.

“She says that she is the mother to the King’s son.”

Lysa’s eyes flipped up to the mirror catching the terrified girls eyes with her own. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I heard you correctly. She said what?”

“She has brought her son with her,” the girl said. “She claims that he is the king’s.”

Lysa looked at her own reflection in the mirror, feeling the paper that her brother had written on crumple in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess who comes in the next chapter? I'm actually so excited about this chapter and the next few after it. They were almost effortless for me to write, and while I have read through and made some changes, they are mostly the same as what I had planned. So, yeah, I'm excited. The next chapter will probably be posted sometime in the next few weeks. I'm planning on having two more chapters written before I post it though so no promises.  
> Also a big thank you to everyone who has read this and had left kudos and comments. This has been a thrill to write!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that I got those two chapters done way quicker than I thought I would. So here's chapter nine.

**Chapter 9**

“You’re grace,” the woman before her curtsied low, her flaxen hair hanging limp around her shoulders. “I do not mean to intrude-”

“Then why do you?” Lysa snapped from her chair. She had granted the woman at the gate her request, a private audience in the queen’s solar. Her grey eyes narrowed on the little boy who clutched the woman’s hand. He looked just like Steffon if only a bit older. “Is this the boy, then?”

The woman looked down at the boy before letting her brown eyes meet Lysa’s. “Yes,” she said with a smile. “This is my Gendry. He’s a good boy. Never cries or gets into trouble. Plays well with all the other children, and he’s very smart.”

“Then why have you brought him here?” Lysa looked the woman up and down. Dirty clothes and gaunt cheeks, she had obviously given up more than one meal so that her child may not know hunger, and a splotch of blood on the color of her dress, fresh if Lysa had to guess. 

The woman looked back at the little boy. “I didn’t want to. He’s all I’ve got, and I wasn’t about to let you fancy folk take him from me. But…” the woman trailed off, running her hand over the boy, Gendry’s coal hair. “You see, I’m not well, Your Grace.”

“I gathered as much,” Lysa said, her voice softening. “What is your name?”

“Mora, Your grace.”

“Mora.” Her name felt strange sliding off of Lysa’s lips. “Why have you brought your son to me?”

“I’m dying, your grace,” Mora said, kissing the boy’s head. “I want him to be taken care of. He may be the bastard of a barmaid, but he’s still the King’s son.”

Lysa stood from her seat, letting her feet carry her across the room. She stopped in front of the Mora and her son, Gendry. “How old is he?”

“Just about six years.” Mora smiled down at the boy. “He’s a very good boy, my Gendry is.”

Lysa sighed, looking at the little boy once more. He was Robert’s for certain, the Baratheon look ran strong, Gendry was no exception to the rule. “Would you mind if I had him taken to the kitchen and fed?” she asked, reaching for the servant's bell.

“N-no…” Mora looked back down at her son. “What do you say to the queen, Gendry? Just like we practiced.”

The boy, who had been silent the entire time, looked up at his mother, before letting his Baratheon blue eyes fall on the Lysa once more. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a little bow.

Lysa rang for the maid who stood just outside the door. The mousy girl swept the boy away in a heap of skirts. Leaving Lysa alone with Mora.

“Please, sit,” Lysa said, gesturing to the chair next to hers. 

Mora made her way to the chair, her brown eyes falling to the stones beneath her feet.

“How bad is it?”  Lysa asked, settling back into her seat.

“It’s not good, Your grace,” Mora said, taking her seat.

“Clearly, not if it has you coughing up blood. Would you like tea? Or, if you prefer, I have some dornish red that was sent to me when I birthed my last son.” Lysa eyed the woman once more. Her eyes were brown, the forgettable kind, the same color as the dirt in her hair.

Those brown eyes went wide. “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Nonsense,” Lysa waved it off, ringing the bell for the wine. “They send me a case every time word has arrived that I have birthed a child. They’ll send me more when I birth my next one.”

“Next one?” Mora’s eyes fell to Lysa’s center. “Are you…?”

“No,” Lysa sighed. “But I do still intend to give my husband more children in the future.”

“You already have four,” Mora said, “How could a man hope for more than that?”

“My mother had five,” Lysa grinned. 

“I can barely handle one.” Mora looked back down at her lap.

“Yes, well, I have an entire team of servants for the children alone, as well as a husband. You have just yourself.” Lysa directed the maid to pour a glass of wine for Mora.  “Have you seen a maester?”

“I have no money for a maester,” Mora admitted, graciously taking the glass. “This wine costs more than I make in a year.”

Lysa took her own glass, sipping from it slowly. “Then you must try some.”

Mora raised the glass to her lips, almost shying away from the liquid. It was the smallest sip the Lysa had ever seen. Even Catelyn, the dutiful wife, and mother, who she had never seen anywhere near intoxicated, drank more. “It’s good,” she finally said, “Very good, Your Grace.”

“It’s my favorite,” Lysa admitted, “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Why?” Mora asked, sipping more this time.

“I’m a northerner. My favorite is supposed to be the bitter wine from my home,” she sighed, swirling her glass. “But Dornish Red… It’s got a rather special flavor. I had no idea wine could be so sweet until I married Robert.”

“The king is rather fond of his drink, isn’t he?” Mora chuckled. “He only ever looked twice at me because I was pouring for him.”

“Was this before or after he was wed to me?”

The blood left Mora’s face. “I swear, Your Grace, it was before. I didn’t even know he was the king until he and his men rode out the next morning. He tried to give me coin before he left but I wouldn’t let him. I’m a barmaid, not a whore.”

Lysa smiled. “Well, it’s nice to know that I am not the only woman in the city unable to resist the king’s charms.”

“Your Grace,” Mora’s voice was shaky. “I didn’t mean to offend by bringing my son here. I will soon be dead. I just want to know that he is being cared for.”

Lysa sighed, finishing her glass. “How are you so sure that you’re dying?”

“When it’s your time, your grace, you know. You can feel it.” She shook her head. “I’ve known for a long while now. I just want my son taken care of.”

“Yes, you keep saying that,” Lysa said, looking at Mora. “How would you have me help, If I decide to?”

“Money,” Mora said, looking into her glass. “Master Tobho Mott had taken an interest in him as a smith's apprentice but I can’t afford the fee.”

Lysa nodded. Master Mott was widely known as one of the best smiths in the city, not only through kings landing but the rest of the crownlands as well. He had made several of Robert’s weapons and even one of Lysa’s favorite crowns. “He could teach your son quite a bit, but are you sure that you want the boy to spend the rest of his days as a smith? It’s dirty work and very dangerous.”

“I know,” Mora sighed. “But what else is there? A smith always has money and food and a warm hearth. It may not be the best life, but my boy will never want for much.”

Lysa let her eyes trail over the blonde woman. Her heart ached for Mora and her son, a little boy who would soon be as good as an orphan. “I can understand wanting that for your child.”

“All mothers can,” Mora said.

“I would love to help you but I have no power to do so without Robert’s approval.” Lysa set her glass down on the table, “But, I want you to see our maester. Grand Maester Pycelle is… well, he’s one of the best. Perhaps there is something he can do to help ease your suffering. And… perhaps, if your condition requires constant attention, you may stay here, with your son of course.”

The sound of glass shattering across the stone floor echoed through the room. “Your Grace…”

“I imagine that you’ll want your son near you, but while he is with us, I see no reason for him to not know his siblings,” Lysa continued. “I imagine he and my Steffon will get along quite well.”

Mora let out a sob, her shoulder’s shaking. “Your Grace.”

“And you must start calling my Lysa,” she finally sighed. “Our children will bind us together for the rest of time. We should get used to calling each other by our names.”

 

Mora and her son were moved into the keep that night.

“It’s bigger than our entire home,” Mora said, letting her hands run over the silken bed linens. “I can’t possibly stay here. A room in the servant's quarters will work just as well.”

“Absolutely not,” Lysa said, striding across the stone floor to where Mora stood. “You are a guest, you will stay in a room for a guest. Besides, this is the nearest to Measter Pycelle’s solar. He’s only a stone’s throw away should you need anything.”

“Your grace-”

Lysa shot Mora a look. 

“Lysa,” she said, making her way back to the door. “This is too much. Really. I never expected to die in luxury.”

Lysa sighed, grabbing Mora’s arm and leading her to the balcony. “It’s more about your son than it is about you. I can’t give you the money you would need to give your boy that apprenticeship, not without consulting with Robert on the matter. What I can do is make sure that you live as long as possible and that you and your son are cared for until the end.”

Mora’s gaze swept over the city, her brown eyes tearing up. “I… I’m not asking you to take me into your home. I’m simply asking that you help me ensure that my son has a future better than the one I can give him.”

Lysa rubbed the woman’s arm, leading her to a seat that faced flea bottom. “Your son is being fed and bathed and he will be brought to you soon. I’m having the maid’s find both of you something more suitable. And this evening, after you have been looked over by Measter Pycelle, you will join myself and Lord Arryn for dinner.”

 

“So you’re telling me that the first man you were with…” Lysa let out a giggle bringing the cup to her lips.

“If you can call it that,” Mora snorted drinking from her glass. “He finished before he even got my dress off.”

It was late, the children were asleep in the nursery, and the two of them were sharing a wineskin on Lysa’s balcony. Mora had been at the keep for over a moon, and while your condition was hardly improving, it wasn’t getting any worse either.

“But he was your elder sister’s husband’s son?” Lysa gaped at the woman. “Wouldn’t that make him your nephew?”

“Only by marriage,” Mora said. “Kera’s husband was older, much older. He was married twice before and had a fair few children older than either of us. But his youngest son. Once that boy got the hang of it he was… well, he’s hardly comparable to the king but…”

“Why didn’t you marry him?” Lysa asked.

Mora sighed. “It would have been much easier if I had. But he was just fun. I could hardly stand him when his cock wasn’t inside of me.”

Lysa let out a snort. “You are a vulgar woman.”

“Oh please, I’m only saying what every woman in the place is thinking.” She waved her hand through the air. “Only difference between you and I is that I don’t give a shit about what people think about me.”

“Maybe you should,” Lysa said, pouring herself more wine. “You may be here much longer than we initially expected.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that,” Mora set her glass down on the table between them. “I am much better than I was when I came to you. I was wondering how you would feel about me leaving.”

Lysa felt the breath leave her chest. “Why would you leave?”

“I came to you because I believed I was dying. Now I’m not.” Mora looked over at Lysa. “I know that we are lucky to be here, but… this isn’t me. I’m no highborn. I can’t live like this. So I’d like to leave.”

“And go where?” Lysa questioned. “Back to flea bottom?”

“I was actually thinking of leaving King’s Landing all together.”

“What?” Lysa slammed her glass down on the table. “You just want to leave the city? What of Gendry? He adores my children. Don’t you want him to grow up knowing his siblings?”

“I’m not sure that I’ll be taking him with me.”

Lysa sat there in silence, staring at the woman before her. “You’d leave your son?”

“I don’t want to,” Mora said, grabbing her glass once more. “But, he’s happy here. With your family. He’s well fed and well clothed and well educated. He’s only 6 and he reads better than me now. I can’t give him that.”

“You are his mother,” Lysa said. “You could stay.”

“Yes, well,” Mora stood, downing the rest of her glass. “I don’t really want to.”

She set the wineglass on the table and walked out.

 

Lysa sighed, watching her children play with Gendry in the gods wood, Cersei sat by her side, cradling Myrcella in the same way Lysa was cradling Eddard.

“What will you do with the boy now?” Cersei asked, watching the children run around.

“I’ll wait for Robert to return to make a decision,” Lysa said. “They should be returning any day now.”

They had received word over a week before that the iron born had been put down. Robert and Ned both lived to return to their wives, but the Greyjoy family was not so lucky. All of the sons of the mighty house, save the youngest, nine-year-old Theon, had died in the uprising. Theon was to be taken from his father and his home and held in the north under Ned’s care.

“He still hasn’t decided?” Cersei scoffed. 

“He says that he wants to see the boy first.” Lysa looked back at Gendry who was grinning from ear to ear at something Steffon said. “Is it wrong that I hope he chooses to keep the boy around even after what his mother did?”

Mora had vanished into the night a fortnight before. Her lodgings in flea bottom were empty and she had taken everything that she could carry from the room’s she was set up in. Lysa had the gold cloaks searching for her, but the chances were that she had already left the city.

“He’s a good boy,” Cersei admitted. “But he’s a bastard. Your husband’s bastard. Do you really want a reminder of the king’s infidelities sleeping in the nursery with your children?”

Lysa cooed down at Eddard, her eyes never leaving Gendry. “Robert and I weren’t married then, so I hardly consider it an infidelity.”

“I think you should send him to the kitchens,” Leyla said, stabbing a needle into her stitching. “No good ever comes from keeping bastards around the castle, especially not when they’re older than your heir.”

“He’s a good boy,” Lysa argued. “And the twins adore him.”

“Good boys can still overthrow your son when they come of age,” Leyla spat. “We don’t need another Blackfyre rebellion. He’s a tavern wench’s son. He’ll probably end up stealing from you just like his whore mother.”

“Enough,” Lysa snapped, meeting her eyes. “It’s not his fault that she fled.”

“No,” Cersei agreed. “Children aren’t their parents.”

Leyla scoffed, throwing her embroidery into her lap. “Oh please, children are always their parents. Lannisters are smart and cunning, Baratheons are strong and noble, Targaryens were all mad, so on, so forth. That boy is a bastard. I never approved of he or his wretched mother being let anywhere near your family.”

“Well,” Lysa hissed, her gaze falling back to where the children played. “As  _ I _ am queen and  _ you _ are my lady, I hardly think that I need your approval.”

Leyla let out a huff. “Of course you don’t. All I’m saying is that his mother should never have been allowed in the castle. Now you are settled with the care and well being a boy that is not yours. If you won’t throw him out you should at least make him useful. Put him in the kitchen or the stables. Bastards have no place in the royal nursery.”

“Your grace,” Baristane Selmey said, approaching her. “I have news.”

Lysa’s eyes shot away from Leyla to meet those of the old knight. “Yes?”

“A member of the city guard found a body in black water bay,” he said, his golden armor shining.

“There are always bodies in black water bay,” Lysa sighed. “How is this news?”

“The body was a woman, rather waterlogged, but her hair was yellow. The front of the dress she was wearing was covered in blood but we could find no wounds.”

Lysa felt her heart sink. “Oh?”

“She had this on her person, Your Grace.” Sir Selmey held out his hand to her, in it was a golden ring, one of Lysa’s rings, a gift from a courtier for her name day years before. She had given it to Mora after she caught the woman admiring it.

Lysa turned away, her eyes falling back to where Gendry played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, yeah, this chapter was early so chapter 10 will probably be released in the next few weeks, probably a week from Friday, but I do want to have a few more chapters done before it gets put up. Again, I love this chapter and the next one is also pretty great. Also, your comments give me life! They're the reason I love writing for you guys so much. Thank you for your support!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Lysa stood in the courtyard, the yellow silk of her dress billowing around her legs. Cersei stood to her right with Jon, and her children were held by wet nurses just behind her. Today was the day Robert would return.

The pounding of hooves over cobblestone echoed around her as the first horses came into view. Lord Jaime was the first to ride into the courtyard on his nobble white sand steed. He was followed by many men, none of whom being her husband. 

And then she saw him, tall and broad atop his black destrier. She could hardly hold back the grin that covered her face when she saw him. Steffon and Lyanna cried out for him from where they stood, and Lysa could swear that she saw tears in his eyes as he dismounted.

Robert rushed to her, sweeping her into his arms. She let herself be lifted from the ground into a breathtaking kiss. “I am never letting you go again,” Robert said, setting her back on the ground. 

“I will hold you to that,” Lysa said, smiling up at him.

He greeted their children, pulling all of them into his arms.

Lyanna cried and clung to her father, swearing to never part with him again, and Steffon gripped his hands, making Robert swear that next time he rode to war, he would take Steffon with him.

The feast to welcome the returning army home was grand, and the wine was plentiful once the children went to bed.

Lysa found herself sitting in the same alcove as she had at Jonelle’s wedding feast, the same couples joining them.

“You look entirely too lovely,” Robert said, pulling her into his lap. “Remind me why I left.”

“I do believe the war had something to do with it,” Lord Jaime said, running a hand over his wife’s stomach. “Hopefully there won’t be another one any time soon.”

“I think we can all agree with that,” Cersei said with a smile as she leaned into her husband. “Though I must say, from what I hear, Lysa did an admirable job running the kingdom in the king’s absence. Isn’t that right, Jon?”

“It is,” Jon said, grinning down at her. “The queen was a force to be reckoned with in council meetings.”

“It was rather annoying if you weren’t on the same side as her,” Tyrion said, downing his glass of wine. “She is Ned Stark’s sister for sure. Noble and steadfast and stubborn as hell.”

“Not to mention the bastard,” Leyla said, running a hand through Tyrion’s hair. 

“Leyla,” Lysa warned, setting her glass down. The two of them had had this argument before.

“I’m just saying that I wouldn’t want him playing with my children. He’s the son of a tavern wench,” she shot back.

“He’s also the son of a king,” Robert bit out. “Lady Lannister, I do suggest that you mind your tongue.”

Leyla paled, bowing her head in submission. “I meant no offense, Your Grace.”

“He is a wonderful boy,” Lysa sighed leaning into Robert. He and Steffon get off so well too. He could make an excellent Kings Gaurd one day. Or a smith for Steffon. He wandered off to the keep’s forge the other day and was mesmerized when the nurses finally found him. Covered in soot but grinning like a fool nonetheless.”

“I’ll have to meet him then,” Robert said with a smile. “Tomorrow, when I visit the children.”

The drinking continued late into the night before Lysa finally got up the nerve to drag her husband to her bed. She wasn’t as hazy as she had been the last time they had laid together and she was certainly less mad at him then she had been the morning after.

“I brought something back for you,” Robert grinned as she pushed him into a chair.

“Oh?” She smirked, crawling into his lap, “And what is that? A skull of a fallen? Or an Iron born dagger perhaps?”

He only pulled her closer, his lips pressing to the sensitive skin under her ear. “Not quite,” his deep voice rumbled through her. “Close your eyes.”

Lysa did as she was told, a small smile crossed her face. “Should I be worried?”

“Never.” Robert’s chuckle sent a thrill down her spine. “Put your hand out.”

Again, she did as she was told, her hand out, palm up, waiting for whatever it was that he had brought back for her.

When he finally placed it in her hand, she clenched her fist around it. It was soft and smooth and familiar.

She opened her eyes to see the handkerchief she had given him before he had ridden off to war. “My handkerchief!” she laughed, looking back over at him. “I can’t believe you brought it back.”

“Read the stitching,” Robert said, his ears turning pink.

“R+L,” Lysa read aloud, fingering the sloppy letters and the heart that encased them. “Did you do this?” she asked feeling the tears well up in her eyes.

“I did.” He nodded. “You hate it,” he said as her tears began to fall down her cheeks. “I knew I should have had one of the women do it but they swore you would like it more if it was by my hand and-”

She cut him off, pressing her lips to his. “I love it,” she said when she pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

He let out a relieved laugh, gripping her tighter. “Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled, kissing him again. “I thought for so long that you would never… that we would never… I thought that I would always be second to you, but now, being here in your arms, seeing this,” she gave the handkerchief a little wave, “I don’t care if I’m first or second or tenth. I love you, and I don’t care if you don’t-”

“I love you too,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek. “I love you so much Lysa.”

She turned to kiss him, melting into his chest. She was so ensconced by him that she barely noticed when he moved them to the bed and began undressing her.

She let him ravish her with his mouth, taking all that he wanted from her bare skin before he pushed himself into her. 

It wasn’t as fast as it had been in the past, but Lysa could barely keep track of time as his hands raked down her body.

Robert flipped them so that she was straddled across his lap, his cock still hard inside of her. Lysa didn’t miss a beat as he began riding him, his hands running up and down her body. It wasn’t long before he sat up, taking one of her rosy nipples in his mouth. 

She could hardly hold back her groan as she kept riding him, wrapping her arms around his back.

She kept going until she felt herself come undone around him. She let out a laugh as he flipped them again, pulling her legs up around his ribs. He thrust into her, his lips sucking and licking her neck and chest as he reached his peak.

He groaned, falling on top of her. She was quick to cling to him, her arms around his neck and shoulders, her legs letched together around his back.

“I’ll crush you,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“You’re not that heavy,” she said. “I like feeling you.”

“I love you.” It was short and sweet and mumbled against her neck. 

“Say it again,” she pleaded, running a hand through his hair.

“I love you, Lysa,” he said, kissing her neck. “I was a fool to think myself capable of loving anyone else.”

“Say it again.”

“I am so desperately in love with you,” Robert said, pushing himself up. “You, Lysarra of houses Stark and Baratheon, are the only woman I have ever loved like this. I was born to be yours.”

Lysa let out a watery laugh. “I love you too.”

 

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Robert asked, running a hand down Lysa’s back. They laid across the bed, the firelight streaming over their bare bodies. 

“He will,” Lysa said. “He’s a good boy, Robert.”

“You keep saying that,” he sighed, looking down at her. “You and the children seem rather attached to him. Do I really have a say in whether or not he stays?”

“Of course you do. You’re the king,” Lysa laughed. “But I can say nothing for how the children will react.”

“Are they truly that fond of him?” Robert asked, pushing a strand of hair from her face. “Are you?”

Lysa nodded. “In the north, bastards aren’t as stigmatized as they are here in the south, and… he has no one else. We can’t just leave him to the streets.”

Robert let out a huff. “If I claim him, there will be the expectation that I claim all of my bastards. That I take them into our home in the same way.” He rolled onto his back. “Truth be told, I have no idea how many there are.”

Lysa flipped herself so that she was laying across him, their bare chests pressed together. “Do I look like a woman who’s scared?”

Robert chuckled, placing a soft kiss on the underside of her jaw. “No. You look like a woman who is prepared for battle.”

Lysa pressed her lips to his briefly. “I’m in love with you, which can feel like a war sometimes. I just need to know the most I can before it all happens. That means that I need you to tell me about the Bastards that you do know about.”

Robert sighed, leaning back into his pillow. “Somehow, I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’m predictable,” Lysa said, rolling off of him. “But I need to know.”

Robert only nodded. “There's a girl in the Vale,” he started.

“Mya,” Lysa said, running a hand through her hair. “I know about her. Lya was livid when word of her reached us.”

“I know, Ned chewed my ear off for it,” he said, putting his arm behind his head. “There are rumors of another girl in Torrhen’s Square. A daughter of a whore I was with before the battle.”

“Do you know her name? The girl, not the whore.”

“Bella, according for Varys anyway.”

Lysa laughed. “Bella, after the battle of the Bells. We’ll have to get to her sooner rather than later.”

“Why?” He looked over at her.

Lysa scoffed, turning onto her side. “She’s being raised in a brothel. She might be your daughter but her mother is a whore.”

“Point taken,” he sighed. “There's one more that I know about, a boy named Edric.”

“And where is this Edric?” she asked.

“The Storm Lands…” Robert sighed. “He’s 3.”

Lysa sighed, rolling onto her back. “Who’s his mother?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Who’s his mother?” she asked again.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed.

“Robert,” She said, her voice firm.

“Delena Florent.” He looked over at her.

“Lady Delena Florent?” She let out a sharp breath through her nose. “Lady Selyse’s cousin?”

“Yes.” Robert reached out for her. “Lysa-”

Lysa swatted his hand away. “I know that you’ve been with other women since we were married. I’m not blind Robert. I just didn’t expect there to be… a child with another noblewoman.”

“I know.”

“Will she give the boy up if you ask it of her?” Lysa asked, running a hand down her face.

“She already has,” Robert said. “He was sent to be raised in Storms End as soon as he could travel safely. I don’t even know if she’s seen him since.”

“I doubt it,” Lysa scoffed. “How many people know that she’s his mother?”

“Not many,” he said, reaching for her again. “Not many people know about the boy, to begin with.”

“She’ll want to keep it that way, I imagine.” Lysa looked over at him. “Or she might want to use her position as his mother to worm her way into court. If that’s the case then there may be an issue.”

“We’ll pay her off then,” he said, pulling her into his chest. “She’s… well, I don’t really know her that well, but she very strongly insisted that her son be raised away from her. She won't be allowed in his life now simply because it is beneficial for her.”

Lysa settled against him, winding her fingers through his. “We’re really going to do this, then.”

“We don’t have to,” Robert said, brushing her hair away from her face.

“But we should,” she said, looking up at him. “Besides, if we’re the ones raising them then it will be easier to prevent one of them from rising to try and take our son’s crown. When they’re all old enough, we can see that they’re given positions in the castle. The boys can go into the king's guard and the girls can get good matches, or maybe the other way around if that is desired.”

Robert let out a chuckle. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”

“Ever since Mora ran off,” Lysa admitted. “Gendry knows that she’s with the gods now and that is all he will ever know about it. He doesn’t need to think that she left him on purpose.”

“I suppose that’s for the best.” Robert sighed. “Does he go to the sept to pray for her then?”

“No, actually,” Lysa said with a grin. “He goes to the gods wood with Lya and Steffon. They all pray for her under the heart tree.”

“So you’ve got a convert on your hands then?” Robert asked, raising an eyebrow. “What will the lords think when they find out that you’re raising the king’s children under the old faith?”

“The lords can bloody well get over it,” Lysa scoffed. “I’m the queen and they’re my children too.”

“Ah yes,” Robert chuckled again, rolling on top of her. “A fearsome queen you are. A northern wolf dressed in a crown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! A little bit later than I thought, but here none the less. Also exciting news, This chapter is being posted on my birthday! So as an exciting birthday gift all I want if for you all to comment. I love you all so much! Thank you for sticking with me through 10 whole chapters!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter talks about a miscarriage not super in-depth but enough that it might pose a problem for some people.  
> It was an insanely hard chapter to write but once it was written, I really, really did not want to take it out.

**Chapter 11**

Lysa sighed, looking over at Robert as he dressed. Mya and Bella would be arriving at the Red keep in a matter of hours, surrounded by a host of Arryn men. Edric had arrived several moons turns before as Jonelle and Jaime left for Lannisport, a babe named Johanna nestled close to Jonelle’s chest.

“Things are changing,” Lysa said, laying back on her pillow. “We’ll have two more daughters come the end of the day.”

“And another babe in just a few moons,” Robert pointed out, looking over his shoulder at her swollen stomach. “Girl or boy this time?”

Lysa smiled rubbing a hand over her bump. She was close to 5 moons and her condition had just been announced to court. “Girl, I think. Though Steffon is sure that the next babe I birth is going to be a boy.”

“You’ve never been wrong before,” he pointed out, making his way over to the bed. “Perhaps he’s just hoping for another brother.”

“He already had three brothers,” Lysa said. “Besides, another little girl could be nice. Maybe we’ll name her Argella or Elenie.”

Robert sat next to her, running a hand through her hair. “Did I tell you that I love you today?”

“No.” She gave him a smile, pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you too, but you must be headed to court soon. And I will be headed back to my dreams.”

He kissed her once more. “I’ll send a maid with food in a few hours.”

“Lemon cakes,” Lysa said. “Have them bring lemon cakes, and maybe some of the northern ale that Ned sent. Ooh, and some venison if there is any, and that broth with the mushrooms in it.”

“Anything you want,” Robert said with a chuckle, kissing her once more.

“You treat me so well,” Lysa sighed, running a hand down his cheek.

“I must be off. But ring if you need anything.” Robert kissed her once more before departing. 

Lysa fell back onto her pillow, pulling the furs up around her. The warmth or the room lulled her into a state of peace. Sleep seemed to elude her though, as she stared at the ceiling.

“Just close your eyes, Lysa,” she said to herself, forcing her lids to drop.

_ When she opened her eyes again things were different _

_ Lysa was dreaming, she knew she was dreaming because she was in the gods wood at Winterfell, and she could hear her brother, Brandon, laughing as he chased her through the trees. She wasn’t a woman any longer, but a gangly girl with wild hair and a missing front tooth. _

_ She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming, because Lyanna ran beside her, young and free, her grey eyes flashing with joy. _

_ Lysa reached out and tagged the wood of the heart tree just seconds before her sister, the bark as rough as she remembered it. _

_ “I always knew you would beat me one day,” Lya laughed behind her. _

_ Her voice sounded older, and when Lysa turned to look at her once more, it wasn’t her sister as a child any longer. She looks like Lysa, only her jaw was a little longer and her hair was a little darker. She was older and Lysa was once again in a woman’s body. _

_ “Lyanna,” Lysa said, reaching to touch her sister’s face. Lyanna’s skin was smooth and warm against Lysa’s fingertips. “How…” _

_ “We wanted to make sure that you were okay.” It was a man’s voice this time, smooth and clear. Brandon, an older version of him standing behind Lyanna. “You may be a queen, but you’re still our little sister.” _

_ Lysa let out a laugh, pulling both of them into her arms. “I’ve missed you both so much,” she said, holding them to her. _

_ “We’re always with you,” Lyanna said, pulling back. “And we are so very proud of you.” _

_ Lysa grinned, leaning a head-on Brandon’s shoulder as he spoke. “Your children are beautiful, Lysa. Smart too.” _

_ “They are my pride and joy.” Lysa looked at her two siblings. “I wish they could meet you both. Steffon and Lyanna have been begging to go to Winterfell since Robert returned from the Iron Islands but with everything going on with his other children and me falling with child, it won't be happening any time soon.” _

_ “You should stay in the south.” Brandon’s voice was cold, sending a harsh wind ripping through the trees. “Something is coming, north of the wall. You already know that. Your Stark blood will have made sure of it.” _

_ Lysa looked at him, her brows furrowing. “What? What do you mean I already-” She froze, her mind shooting back to the dream that she had when she was carrying Steffon and Lyanna. Cold blue eyes and winds that carried death. “What are they?” _

_ “We have to leave now,” Lyanna said, kissing Lysa on the cheek. “We love you, little sister.” _

_ “Don’t forget us.” Brandon kissed the crown of her head. “We’ll take care of her.” _

_ “Take care of? Who would need taking care of? Lyanna! Brandon!” Lysa yelled, reaching for them. But they were gone as if they had been carried away with the wind. _

Lysa shot up in bed, her body drenched. She sucked in a deep breath, throwing the furs off of her. Her shift was soaked and her hand’s where clammy. She pulled the damp fabric from her skin, throwing into the corner of the room as she reached for her robe. The heat in the room was stifling, Lysa couldn’t breathe.

She walked to the balcony, her lungs screaming for fresh air. The city stank, it had always stank but the breeze coming off black water was enough to cool her for a moment.

“Your grace?” A voice asked from behind her. “Are you okay?’

She turned to look at the girl, a serving maid, her eyes wide with fear. In her hand was Lysa’s nightshift, soaked in blood.

 

Lysa wanted to die. That was all she could feel as she lay curled up on her side. Cersei sat next to her, brushing her hair from her face. Leyla had been banished from Lysa’s sight, her own growing bump causing Lysa more distress than it was worth.

“The measter said that it happens sometimes,” Cersei reminded her. “The babe wasn’t strong enough. She’s with the gods now.”

Lysa let out a sob, burying her face in the pillow. Brandon’s words echoed through her mind. 

_ “We’ll take care of her.” _

Her gut twisted once more as she gripped the furs around her.

Robert would be seeing to it that Mya and Bella were settled in properly, as Lysa should have done. He would also be seeing to it that the cradle for their little girl was being burned.

Lysa remembered his face when he walked into their rooms to see her covered in her own blood, a tiny little body wrapped in white linen cradled in her arms. She had refused to let go of it.

_ “She’ll be cold if I put her down.” _

She remembered her voice sounding cold and hollow as she looked on the tiny face. She barely looked human, so small that her body had fit in Lysa’s two hands. She had held the body for hours until the maester insisted that she needed to be cleaned herself.

The swaddled white linen laid in a basket near the bed where Lysa could see it. She had thrown a horrible fit when they tried to take her from the room.

“I want her buried with my sister,” Lysa said quietly looking at the basket.

Cersei’s hand froze over Lysa’s hair. “But, royalty is always buried in the sept.”

“I want her with Lyanna and Brandon,” Lysa insisted. “She should be with her family, not some stuffy Targaryen kings.”

Cersei let her eyes wander to the basket. “She’s not a Stark.”

“I’m a Stark,” Lysa said, her tone harsh. “I was born a Stark and I will remain a Stark until the day I die.”

“But the babe-”

Lysa pushed Cersei back. “I am the sister of the warden of the north. If I want my dead child to be buried with her family in the crypt at Winterfell then that is my right.”

“Lysa,” Cersei’s voice was barely a whisper. “The babe isn’t a Stark. I can understand not wanting her to be buried in the sept, but if you want her with her family then she should be in the crypts at Storm's End.”

“I want her buried at Winterfell!” Lysa yelled. “Lyanna and Brandon won't be able to protect her if she’s not.”

Cersei looked down at her lap. “Lysa…”

“She is my daughter,” Lysa insisted. “She will be buried with my family, in the north.”

 

It was the smallest casket that Lysa had ever seen, no bigger than the basket that had laid in her room for hours. 

Ned had agreed instantly to Lysa’s request and had even sent drawings of the marker that had been made for her daughter. A young doe would lay at Lyanna’s feet, a beautiful crown on its head.

Lysa would not be making the trip north to watch her daughter be laid to rest with her brother and sister. Her health was still too delicate for that sort of travel and Robert had far too much to do with the arrival of Mya and Bella to leave kings landing. 

Jon and Cersei would make the trip in their stead, leaving their own children behind to escort Lysa’s daughter north.

The couple, dressed in mourners black said their goodbyes in Robert’s solar, Cersei crouching at Lysa’s feet.

“You never did tell me the name that you picked,” Cersei pointed out, holding Lysa’s hands in her own.

“Argella,” Lysa said quietly. “We’ve named her Argella.”

“Argella,” Cersei repeated. “We will make sure she arrives safely into your sister’s care.”

“There is one more thing that we wanted to discuss with you before you left,” Robert said, grabbing Jon’s shoulder. “We would like to extend an offer of a betrothal between our son, Eddard and your daughter, Myrcella when they come of age.”

Cersei took in a sharp breath, looking at Robert. “Really?”

“Robert…” Jon said, looking at him, “are you sure?”

“It’s the only way we could repay you for years of your loyalty,” Robert said with a nod. “The two of you have become our closest friends. Now, with this union, we will become family.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Cersei asked, looking at Lysa.

Lysa nodded, holding tightly to her friend’s hands. “It was my idea.”

Cersei let her lips fall to Lysa’s hands. “You honor us, offering your son as you do.”

“We cannot offer you a betrothal to Steffon, which we know is what you wanted. But as my heir he will need to marry to ally with someone who is not already part of our circle,” Robert explained. “However, we would still like to honor your family. When Lady Myrcella and Eddard are both of age they will be wed and granted Storms End.”

“You mean she will be the lady of the storm land?” Cersei asked, still gripping Lysa’s hands. “What of your brother, Your Grace?”

“Lord Renly has already agreed to it,” Lysa said.

“You honor us, and our daughter,” Jon said, bowing his head at Lysa. “To bring our daughter into the royal family like this…”

“You are protecting my daughter,” Lysa said. “In turn, I will protect yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this chapter. It's so heartbreaking to me to do this to Lysa, but the chapter is just so tragically beautiful to me so I couldn't cut it. Also, it explains a lot of character change in Lysa in the next several chapters. So yeah, it has a reason, even if it gutted me to do this to her.  
> Comment's give me life, even if they're to yell at me for doing this to Lysa  
> Love you all


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Lysa was glad that none of her children were present as she watched a girl, no older than ten years and covered in dirt and what looked to be blood, be dragged into the throne room by chains. If Lysa had to guess, she could probably tell you fairly accurately why the girl was brought before them at all. She was a bargaining chip.

Jorah Mormont, a name that Lysa knew from her brother’s letters, was how the man introduced himself.

“Why do you bring me a girl?” Robert asked, tapping the armrest of his throne.

“My king,” he said, bowing at Robert’s feet, his hand still gripping the chain. “I wish to return to the North to reclaim my lands that were wrongly stripped from me.”

“They were stripped from you because you were found guilty of the practice of slave trading,” Lysa hissed, looking at the girl.

Jorah Mormont’s eyes rose to her. “Lady Lysara.”

“Queen Lysara,” Jon corrected from behind her. 

“Are these accusations of slave trading true?” Robert asked, shooting his wife a warning look

“Of course they are. My brother would have never exiled him if they weren’t” Lysa spat. “And it seems he’s done it again. Why else would he have a little girl in chains? Do you plan to use her to buy your lands back?”

“She is a traitor to the crown,” Sir Mormont said, pulling at the chain, causing the girl to go tumbling to her knees.

“She is a child,” Lysa growled, standing from her seat.

“She is a Targaryen!”

It felt as if all of the air was instantly sucked from the room. Lysa fell back into her seat in shock. Nobody moved except to look at the girl, no older than nine or ten years, who was chained by the wrists.

Her hair was filthy, it had to be to keep the white color hidden. It made Lysa nauseous. 

Robert’s knuckles were white and his face was blank.

“All of the Targaryens are dead,” Jon said from behind her.

“Not all of them, My Lord,” Sir Mormont said, pulling the girl forward. “May I present Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of the mad king.”

Lysa gripped the sides of her chair. The girl was cowering and covered in her own waste, her dress torn and stained. Robert would want her dead.

“My king,” Jon spoke, breaking the silence of the room. “If I may have a word with you and the queen in private.”

“Granted,” Robert said, standing from the throne. He offered his arm to Lysa as she stood, leading her and Jon to the small council chambers.

Jon made sure that the door was shut firmly before he spoke. “I know what you’re thinking, and we can’t do it.”

“If you know what I’m thinking then you would agree that we must,” Robert growled, letting go of Lysa’s arm. “That girl is a threat, plain and simple.”

“She is a child,” Lysa said, lingering near the door.

“She is a dragon!” Robert snarled, slamming his hands down on the table. “She will burn our family to the ground if given half the chance.”

“Robert,” Jon sighed, taking a seat. “She’s nine and she’s terrified.”

“She’ll grow,” Robert reasoned, walking to the chair at the head of the table. “What happens when she’s grown and decides that she misses being a princess? What happens when she decides it's worth it to slit our son’s throat.”

“She was never a princess,” Jon pointed out. “She’s spent her whole life in exile.”

“We can’t just kill her,” Lysa argued, pacing across the room. “She’s a little girl.”

“She’s a Targaryen!” Robert hissed from his seat. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten what that family did to yours.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” she snapped back. “But that doesn’t mean that we can kill a child. Imagine how it will look. Not only to the realm but to our children.”

“The queen is right,” Jon said, running a hand down his face. “She may be a Targaryen, but she is just a girl. She is innocent of her family's crimes. If you have her executed for them then she’ll become a Martyr for any sympathizers to her family’s reign.”

“Her brother, Viserys is still out there,” Lysa agreed. “Imagine the uproar he will cause if we kill his sister. Your own rebellion was started on a very similar premise. Don’t turn her into another Lyanna.”

“We can’t just let her go,” Robert growled, leaning back. “It will make me look weak, and then we run the risk of her being used as a figurehead for those who would see the Targaryens restored to the throne.”

“Of course we can’t let her go!” Lysa huffed, taking her own seat. “But we can’t kill her. We could send her north, let her live as a ward to my brother. Or even to the Westerlands, let her serve Jonelle and Jaime.”

“Or we could keep her here,” Jon said. “She could serve as a member of your household, a Lady to Princess Lyanna.”

Lyanna thought it over. “There are plenty of fine keeps in the north with no one to rule them. One of them could be granted to her husband upon her marriage.”

“We are not giving her to any lord, northern or otherwise,” Robert spat out. 

“I’m not saying he has to be a lord,” Lysa sighed. “He just needs to be loyal to us.”

“What of your brother’s bastard?” Jon asked. “He would get some sort of lands anyway. Besides, no one will follow her with a bastard as her husband.”

Lysa felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Jon, the boy that the world believed to be the illegitimate son of Ned Stark, Lyanna’s son with Rhaegar Targaryen, the boy who had the strongest claim to the iron throne. And they wanted to marry him to his aunt. She couldn’t find a reason to say no to the match, not one that wouldn’t reveal the boy’s parentage. 

“She can not be our daughter’s only lady,” she finally said, “not if she is to be married to a bastard.”

 

Jorah Mormont was sent to the wall in the very chains he had used to hold Daenerys captive. The girl, now clean and shiny in a pretty pink dress, watched him being marched away from the keep, a bright smile on her face. She stood to the left of Lyanna, mirroring Margaery Tyrell who stood to Lyanna’s right.

The girls all got along famously well, even Mya and Bella made fast friends with Lyanna’s two new ladies. Lysa thanked the old gods and the new for that.

“I’m going to the god's wood,” Lysa said, loosening her grip on Robert’s arm, as the gates shut behind Jorah Mormont. 

“You haven’t been in a while,” Robert said, taking her hand. “Not since…”

Not since she had sent Argella north. It had been nearly 6 moons since Cersei and Jon returned to court, and yet Lysa had avoided the weirwood tree.

“I want to pray,” she said softly. “I haven’t prayed in front of my gods in so long.”

“I have a small council meeting.” Robert sighed. “I trust that you’ll be safe on your own.”

“You worry too much.” Lysa smiled. 

“I worry just enough,” Robert said, kissing the back of her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Make sure you show up to dinner tonight. All of the kids are looking forward to it.”’

Robert only nodded, before letting her go, following Jon back to the small council chamber.

Lysa went her own way, wandering through the castle to the god's wood, paying little mind to those around her. When she approached the weirwood tree, she expected solitude, peace for her prayers. Instead, she was met with a gaggle of children.

“But why does it have a face?” Daenerys asked, squinting at the white bark.

“It’s so the gods can see,” Lyanna explained, reaching to touch the sappy eyes. 

“Not just the gods,” Gendry chimed in. “The queen says that all of our ancestors use the eyes of the weirwoods to watch over us.”

“It makes sense,” Margaery said, sitting on the ground, her eyes wandering up to the red leaves. “My grandmother always said that the north had the right idea, praying to the old gods. It’s a wonder that more people in the reach don’t. We spend all of our days surrounded by trees and fields. Why wouldn’t the gods use those to watch us?”

“Well said, Lady Margaery,” Lysa couldn’t help chiming in, making her way to the tree.

“Mother!” Steffon said, running up to her. At nearly eight years, he was a tall boy, meeting Lysa’s shoulders. She pulled him into her arms, placing a kiss on his hair.

“Have you all been educating Lady Margary and Lady Daenerys on the old gods?” She asked, eyeing the children in front of her.

“We have, your grace,” Gendry said. “Though, Cassi and Edric have run off somewhere. And Mya went to the training yard.”

Mya was the oldest of all the children in court, nearly twelve years. She was as hot-headed and stubborn as Robert. When she had said she was learning to use a bow back in the vale, she had all but demanded that her lessons be continued now that she was in King’s Landing. Lysa knew that one day, Mya would make a fine king's guard for Steffon.

Gendry, at only eight years, had taken his apprenticeship with Master Mott, who had been made the official smith to the crown. Lysa and Robert had already agreed that he would be given Moat Cailin to rebuild when he came of age. Ned had been more than happy to agree.

Bella… well, Lysa was unsure of Bella’s future. The girl was bright, with a good head for numbers, but she showed more interest in Lyanna’s dresses than she did for anything else. Perhaps, if Lysa could make her a decent match, she would be happy as a merchant’s wife.

Edric would likely become Cassiana’s sworn shield and stay at her side wherever she ended up, most likely in Dorne, married to one of their princes. The two were attached at the hip, Lysa knew that separating them would be a disastrous mistake.

Steffon, her oldest, her husband’s heir, he would be king. Lysa had always known as much. She only hoped he would be a good king. Though, with his recent betrothal to Margaery, she guessed that his queen would stand for nothing else.

Lya had, in turn, been promised to Willas Tyrell, the heir of Highgarden. Lysa wasn’t overly fond of the match given the Willas was nearly six years Lya's senior, but she could hardly deny that it was probably the best offer in the entirety of the seven kingdoms. 

And her Eddard would, of course, be wed to Myrcella Arryn and granted the StormLands, much to Stannis’s disappointment.

“It’s not just the gods and our ancestors that watch us,” Lysa said, walking to the heart tree. “It’s those we have lost. Parents and siblings and children, even beloved pets. Everyone that we have ever loved and everyone who has ever loved us uses the eyes of the weirwoods to watch over us.”

“Even my family?” Daenerys asked, looking back at the tree. “I know that they did terrible things but…”

Lysa nodded, running a hand through her pale hair, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Even your family.”

Daenerys smiled, looking at Lysa. “I hope your daughter is watching over you, Your Grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life!


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